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PICTURES & LEGENDS 



FROM 



NORMANDY & BRITTANY 




THE CATHEDKAL, VANNES. 



Pictures and Legends 



FROM 



NORMANDY AND BRITTANY 



BY 



THOMAS AND KATHARINE MACQUOID 




WITH THIRTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS 



NEW YORK 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 AND 29 WEST 23D STREET 
1881 



W. L. Siioeniak«r 
I S *W 



^\^ lA'V 






TO 



ELIZABETH CLARKE. 



Dear Elizabeth, 

You suggested the idea of " Pictttres 

and Legends fj'oin Normandy and Brittany;'' and we 

lovingly dedicate the book to you, in memory of your 

true and life -long friendship for us and for our 

children. 

Affectionately yours, 

Thomas & Katharine Macquoid. 



Stanley Place, Chelsea, 
October 1878. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGR 

Breton Fountains — The Fountain of Le Drennec — " Catherine 
Cloar and the Poulpican " . . . , . i 

CHAPTER II. 

A Hunt for "White Bread" — A Breton Beggar's Story — 

" The Ferry of Carnoet " . . . , '9 

CHAPTER III. 

Quimper — Our Landlady's Aunt's Story — " The Two Neigh- 
bours of Quimper " . . . . . .28 

CHAPTER IV. 

Quimperld — Le Faouet — The Story of " The Miller and his 

Lord" .75 

CHAPTER V. 
Pont-Aven — " The Legend of the Rocking-Stone of Trdgunc " 92 

CHAPTER VI. 
Auray— The Story of "The Bisclaveret" . . . 144 



viii CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

Valines — " The Glover of Vannes " . . # •156 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Dinan — The Duel between Bertrand Du Guesclin and Sir 

Thomas of Canterbury— I'he Story of La Garaye . , 162 

CHAPTER IX. 

Dol— A Legend of St. Christopher— " The Old Woman's 
Cow" — The Home of Chateaubriand — Chateau Com- 
bourg— Vitr^ . . . . . .183 

CHAPTER X. 

Avranches — A Brace of Characters— The Story of "The Pil- 
grimage to the Mount " . . . . . 199 

CHAPTER XL 

Castle of Falaise— Arlette— Honfleur— Old Farm-House — 

Pont-Audemer— The Fourolle— " Beside the Rille " . 246 

CHAPTER XII. 

Caudebec — Rouen — St. Romain and the Dragon — " A Waif 

of the Woods " — Chateau Gaillard .... 295 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Drawn by Thoi7ias R. Macqtwid. 



Cathedral, Vannes . 

The Fountain of Le Drennec 

Fountain near Pont-Aven 

A Breton Child 

A Breton Beggar . 

Spires of Cathedral, Quimper 

Old Houses, Quimper 

Market-women, Quimper . 

The Bridge, Quimperle . 

Market-House, Le Faouet 

Chateau of Henan 

Annik . 

GUERIK 

Beehives 

The Bridge, Auray 

Old woman Spinning 

Rue de Jerzual, Dinan 

Ruins of the Abbey, Lehon 

Church, Lehon 



PAGE 

Frontispiece 



12 

15 

29 

31 
74 

75 
76 
92 

94 
103 
109 
144 
145 
160 
169 
170 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Chateau of La Garaye 

Old Houses, Dol 

Chateau Combourg 

Old Shops, Vitre . 

Porch of Cathedral, Chartres 

La Merveille, Mont S. Michel 

Birthplace of William the Conqueror 

Market-place, Honfleur 

A Norman Farm-House 

Old Houses, Pont-Audemer 

Market-Place, Caudebec 

Grande Rue, Caudebec 

An old Court in Rouen . 

Monument S. Romain, Rouen 

Chateau Gaillard . 



• • • ■ 


172 


• • • • 


184 


• _ • • 


194 


• . • 


196 


. 


204 


. 


236 


NQUEROR 


246 


. 


. 249 


. 


250 


« • • • 


262 


• • * 


296 


• • • 


298 


• • • 


299 


• • • • 


303 


• • • 


. 319 



NOTE. 

Some of the stones in this book are founded on 
popular legends and traditions, and a few have been 
adapted from the tales told by the story-telling 
beggars of Brittany. 



PICTURES & LEGENDS. 



CHAPTER I. 

BRETON FOUNTAINS— THE FOUNTAIN OF LE DRENNEC— 
CATHERINE CLOAR AND THE POULPICAN. 

The two distinguishing features of Brittany are its 
dolmens and other stone reHcs of a prehistoric age, 
and its ivy-grown moss-covered fountains. These are 
indescribably picturesque ; they are usually found, like 
this fountain of Le Drennec, embosomed in trees, 
against which the deeply-coloured stone-work is well 
relieved. From the joints of the masonry springs the 
delicate lady - fern, and all around is a richly - hued 
tangle of briers and brambles, and decaying leaves of 
varied tints. Morning and evening quaint groups are 
gathered round these fountains — white-capped, dark- 
faced, Breton women, with brass or brown stone pitchers, 
linger and chat beside the clear flowing water, while 

sometimes a youth, or more often an old man with 

B 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



broad-brimmed hat, and long flowing locks, looks on 
and sees them fill and carry away the heavy weight 
of water, but rarely offers to lighten their labour. 

A great interest is attached to these fountains from 
the superstitious fears with which they are regarded. 
Formerly the Korrigans had unbounded power over 
these secluded spots, and they are supposed by the 
peasants to have created the fountains, as the dwarfs 
or Poulpicans are believed to have built the Dolmens. 

But in these days a crucifix, or else that which the 
Korrigan detests even more, the image of the Blessed 
Virgin, is almost always to be found on the fountain, and 
although the fairy still visits the place at evening-tide, and 
combs her long yellow hair, mirrored in the water, she is 
no longer seen by day as a little old white-haired witch, 
with red eyes and wrinkled face. The Korrigan is 
tiny, like the rest of her sisterhood, and by night she 
appears under an exquisitely beautiful form, clad only 
in a long white veil wrapped closely round her. This 
fairy has a wonderful knowledge of the healing art, 
and gives charms, it is said, to those who believe in 
her. Every year, at the first burst of spring, she holds 
high festival beside her special fountain. There, on a 
cloth of dazzling whiteness, are spread ethereal dainties, 
and in the centre is a cup filled with a liquor of which, 




THE FOUNTAIN OF LE DRENNEC. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 3 

so says tradition, a single drop gives omnipotent 
wisdom ; but at the sound of a human footstep all 
vanishes into space, and only the bent grass blades 
tell of the festival. The sight of a priest, above all, 
puts the sprites to immediate flight ; but woe to the 
unlucky mortal who comes suddenly on a Korrigan 
when she is either counting the hoards she stores 
in the Dolmens, or as she lies combing her hair on 
the soft grass beside her fountain. Woe, too, to 
the youth or maiden who flings a stone in the water in 
.which the Korrigan has hidden herself, especially if it 
be on a Saturday ; on that day, dedicated to the Blessed 
Virgin, the Korrigan is especially spiteful. 

This fairy greatly covets newly born children, and 
is skilful at exchanging for one of these her own 
hideous little Poulpican or dwarf. Souvestre and 
other Breton writers tell the story of one of these 
changelings : — 

A Breton mother, named Catherine Cloar, went out 
thoughtlessly one morning, leaving her newly born 
infant, a boy, in its cradle near the open cottage door, 
without making the sign of the cross over it, or com- 
mending it to God's protection. A Korrigan happen- 
ing to pass by, heard the baby crowing to itself. She 
looked in and saw a lovely, fair, blue-eyed child, and 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



at once she coveted it. She snatched it up, and placed 
in the cradle her own little son, who was black and 
more spiteful than a cat. 

Catherine Cloar came home, but, owing to the 
glamour thrown over it by the fairy, she did not at 
first see any change in her baby. After a time she 
began to wonder that the child did not grow, and 
was so full of spite and mischief. As soon as it was 
old enough, it was sent to mind the cows, and it used 
to fasten thorn branches under the poor beasts' tails, 
and then to laugh heartily when they ran wildly about. 

The poor mother was in despair ; she could not 
understand why her son should be so small of stature 
and so great in mischief. Sometimes she would 
say to her husband as they sat together beside the 
hearth, — ■ 

" May Saint Anne defend us, but that child cannot 
be our son ; he has too small a body, and his wits are too 
sharp." 

But Cloar only stretched out his huge hands to warm 
at the fire, took his pipe out of his mouth, shook his 
long hair out of his eyes, and finally spat on the embers, 
grumbling something in his beard ; it was his way of 
answering his wife, and it drove her past bearing. 

It happened one night that the child was left alone 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 5 

in the cottage ; there was a storm of wind and rain, and 
all at once some one tapped at the window, and a gruff 
voice said, 

" Have you any beasts to sell ?" 

It was the butcher of Vannes, and spite of the 
storm, he wanted to see if he could make a bargain. 
He was entirely wrapped in a huge blue cloak which 
covered him and his horse and also the calf that 
he had with him tied by the legs in front of him. 
The Poulpican peeped through the window, and all at 
once he saw the three heads — the man's, the horse's, and 
the calf s — which seemed all to grow out of one body. 

He shut the window in a great fright, saying, 

" I saw the acorn before I saw the oak, but I never 
saw the like of this." 

The butcher went away astonished at such words 
from a child, and when he next met Catherine Cloar 
he told her what he had heard. 

Her suspicions had by this time grown so strong 
that she resolved to make them a certainty. She went 
at once, while the child was out in the fields, and bought 
a hundred eggs ; she broke them all, and ranged the half 
shells in front of the hearth in a long straight row, till 
they looked like a procession of surpliced priests at the 
FUe Dieu. She had just finished when she heard the 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



voice of the strange child singing quietly to himself, 
and she hid behind the door. 

He came in, and when he saw the egg-shells he 
muttered — ■ 

" I saw the acorn before I saw the oak, but the like 
of this I never saw." 

Catherine had no longer any doubt, and as soon as 
her husband came in, she took him apart and told him 
the story, and they both decided that the little one was 
a demon and must be killed. They went in and seized 
the little creature, and were going to execute their 
project, when the Korrigan, whose power made her 
aware of what they were doing, suddenly appeared 
leading a fine grown boy by the hand. 

" Take your son," she said to the parents. " I have 
fed him in the Dolmen of Tir-Tarden on roots and 
cinders — see how healthy and bright he is — and now 
give me back my Poulpican." 

" The belief of the peasants," says Monsieur de la 
Villemarque, " is that the Korrigans are the spirits of 
native Celtic princesses who, having refused to embrace 
Christianity when it was first preached in Armorica, in- 
curred the Divine displeasure. The same hope for which 
they steal children makes them very desirous of allying 
themselves with men ; this is shown in one of the most 



FROM NORMA NDY AND BRITTA N Y. 

popular of the Breton ballads, The Si7^e de Naiin and 
the Faiiy. 

There are two fountains at Quinipily near Baud, 
most picturesque in character, although not so rich in 
detail as Le Drennec some way north of Brest. At St. 
Nicholas des Eaux on the Blavet, one of the most 
quaint and primitive of Breton villages, there is a large 
and well-preserved fountain, wreathed with brambles 
and bright with ferns, which seems as if it might have 
been in existence in the days of S. Brieuc and S. 
Gildas, those two wonder-working saints who built their 
hermitage on the opposite bank of the river Blavet, the 
shrine of some famous Pardon or Pilgrimage. 

Brittany is essentially a country of marvels and 
miracles, both in the way of saints — St. Corentin, St. 
Gildas, St. Ronan, and St. Guenole, and others whose 
fame meets the traveller continually, either in churches 
dedicated to them, or far more often in miracles worked 
in their names, attested by pictures and legends — or 
in its wonderful stones, the Menhirs and Dolmens of 
Carnac and Loc-Maria-Ker, and other places ; for these 
giant marvels are scattered broadly over the province, 
chiefly in Morbihan and Finistere. 

Many strange and pagan rites are still secretly 
practised by the peasantry, dyed in a double supersti- 



8 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



tion, around those uncouth and ancient reHcs. Even 
over the traveller, after some stay among them, they 
obtain a strange and weird fascination — a fascination 
that seems to put him in sympathy with the reserved 
and primitive people of South Brittany. 




FOUNTAIN NEAR PONT-AVEN. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



CHAPTER II. 

A HUNT FOR "WHITE BREAD"— A BRETON BEGGAR— 
THE FERRY OF CARNOET. 

We were extremely hungry — famished is perhaps a truer 
word — for we had started from Landerneau without 
breakfasting. 

We wanted to see several places of interest near 
this pretty little town, and we had reached the inn so 
late the night before that we had not bespoken any 
provisions for our journey. 

This morning when our vehicle — a comfortable- 
looking machine, with a good horse, a capacious hood, 
and a seat big enough to hold three behind the driver 
— came clattering over the uneven stones, our landlord 
and his wife were still asleep. We asked the name of 
a place to breakfast at, but both the white-capped 
staring maids shook their heads ; they could only speak 
Breton. We asked the driver, but his French was very 
bad, and he did not seem to comprehend what we 
said. One of our party understood Breton thoroughly, 
but she could only speak just sufficient to tell the ugly, 



lo PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

sullen-faced fellow that we would stop to breakfast 
wherever he could find " white bread ;" for although 
black bread when new is eatable, it seems generally 
stale and sour, and in this state is most unpalatable. 

Off we drove, first to see the ruins of King Arthur's 
castle of La Garde Joyeuse. We could only find a pic- 
turesque bit of gateway wreathed with ivy, and a sort of 
vaulted crypt into which one of us had nearly fallen. 
The driver was so long in finding out this ruin that we 
began to feel starved, but though we stopped at every 
place like an inn in the villages we passed through, the 
answer was always the same — a shake of the head — when 
the driver asked for "white bread." After that we tried to 
find the ruined church of Beuzitconogan, in which is the 
tomb of Troilus de Montdragon, but our driver either 
could not or would not get into the right road, so at 
last we gave up the search, and told him to drive on 
till we could find a place to breakfast in. It was now 
two o'clock, and we had grown so faint and sick with 
hunger that I believe, if the villages we passed through 
had looked less squalid and dirty, we should have been 
capable of sitting down humbly to a meal of sour black 
bread and cider. But our driver gave us no choice ; he 
had a good horse, though it was getting tired, and he 
drove on rapidly, while we felt cross with him and with 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. ii 

one another, and lost all interest in the charming country 
through which we were hurried. 

A sudden turn in the road, and we all gave a shout 
of joy. 

We were in the midst of a much larger village 
than any we had yet passed through, but there was 
no sign of an inn except that over a squalid-looking 
shed, with a filthy pool of black mud in front, was 
written, " Ici on loge a pied et a cheval," with its 
Breton equivalent beyond. 

But our driver, to our joy, did not stop here, he 
drove across the wide stony street to a long low house, in 
the window of which were some groceries and sweeties. 
We jumped out gladly, and followed the driver through 
the low-arched doorway into a large room with heavy 
black beams overhead, from which hung skins of lard, 
bunches of herbs, and bundles of crepes. 

A very pleasant-faced intelligent-looking woman 
came forward to speak to us. Clinging shyly to her 
apron was a lovely little girl about six years old, fair- 
skinned, with regular features and wonderful large dark 
eyes. Her head was covered with a lilac cap, shaped 
like a Phrygian head-piece, and fitting close in front. 

The woman apologised and said her house was not 
fit for us ; she had white bread, but she could only give 
us bread, butter, and eggs. 



12 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



" Capital ! " we said, feeling ready to eat the eggs 
with their shells. 

" How many shall I cook ?" she said timidly, looking 
at the three famished faces. 




A BRETON CHILD. 



" A dozen to begin with," was the reckless answer ; 
and she ushered us upstairs, first into a sort of village 
club-room, and then into a small bed-room, the walls 
of which were covered with photographs and prints. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 13 



Here she spread a clean table - cloth on a small 
round table, and on this she placed a good - sized 
loaf, a lump of butter, in shape and size like a man's 
hat, some black-handled knives and forks, and a bottle 
of claret. 

That was the most delicious meal we ever ate. 
How good that bread and butter was ! How excellent 
that claret and those eggs ! We had boiled eggs, fried 
eggs, oeufs sur le plat — I am afraid to say how many 
eggs we swallowed — and finally, our hostess reappeared 
with a tray, on which were three cups full of black 
coffee and a small bottle of cognac. 

When we had finished eating we asked for the bill, 
and then our landlady, shyly putting her hands behind 
her, said she did not know what to ask — would three 
francs be too much .? — she had never breakfasted 
gentlefolks before ; two francs for the eggs and bread 
and butter, and one franc for the claret, and twenty- 
five centimes each for the coffee and the brandy. We 
paid it, marvelling at the modesty of the charge. As 
we followed her downstairs, she said an old woman had 
come in, who, she thought, would amuse us. She was 
a professed story-teller. 

" But can she tell stories in French 1 " we asked. 

Our hostess looked puzzled, shrugged her shoulders, 



Id PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

and glanced at our friend who was trying to talk 
Breton to the pretty little girl clinging to her mother's 
skirts. 

" Some of these people have a wonderful store of 
ballads and legends/' our friend said, " and the beg- 
gars always tell the best stories. The stories are 
better than the ballads, which are many of them 
modern." 

We all went down the rough uneven stairs rather 
eagerly. Our good meal had given a fresh aspect to 
life, and we felt a new interest in the journey, which 
an hour ago had grown so pale and uninteresting, spite 
of the glorious sunshine overhead ; we felt ready for 
any amount of adventures. 

At one end of the long, low, dark room was the 
immense open fireplace, and close in the ingle nook, 
on an oaken bench, sat an old woman. She sat immo- 
vable, without turning her head or seeming to be aware 
of our presence. On her head was a dirty white linen 
kerchief tied tightly under her chin, and projecting so as 
to throw a deep shadow over her cruel, malicious, green 
eyes ; her bodice and sleeves had once been black, but 
now they were green and rusty, and patched with other 
colours, while numerous chinks and rents revealed 
a still older and more faded velvet garment be- 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



15 



neath, which hung down in shreds below her waist ; 
her rough, dark skirts seemed to be dropping to pieces, 
— patches had been sewn on them with yellow twine, but 




A BEGGAR, 



these were breaking away from the worn-out stuff, — 
in front the upper skirt had been completely torn 
through, and was fastened together by a huge brass pin. 
A coarse blue apron was the least ragged part of this 



i6 PTCrURES AND LEGENDS 

collection of rags and patches, but it was flung on 
one side, as if to display the tattered garments it would 
otherwise have hidden. Her brown hideous- looking 
feet were shod in huge sabots, bound with rusty metal 
bands ; her hands were brown too, but they looked 
powerful and well fed ; there was no starving aspect 
either in her baggy brown cheeks, which seemed pushed 
up by the singularly long dark nostrils. Her mouth 
was a long line across her face, drooping at the 
sides, a slight lift at each corner giving a fiendish 
grin to the inscrutable face of this murderous-looking 
sibyl. 

When cur friend greeted her in Breton, she turned 
and looked at her from head to foot, then raising her 
arm, she displayed a greasy - looking wallet at her 
side, and patting it with her strong veiny fingers, she 
whined something in Breton, and held out her hand. 

The hostess said that she asked an alms for the 
love of the Lord God and of Madam the Virgin, so 
we all put something into her outstretched palm ; 
then, without looking at us, she began a long prayer 
for blessings on us and on our journey, and on 
the place to which we might be going. We longed 
to interrupt her, for we wanted a story, but our hostess 
and her children and the driver stood listening as if 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 17 

they believed the dirty old witch was inspired. All 
at once she asked abruptly, "Where are they going?" 
in a strong coarse voice, quite unlike the professional 
whine that had gone before. Our hostess told her, in 
Breton, that we were going to Quimper, and that, as 
we were strangers, we should thankfully listen to any- 
thing she might tell us about that city. 

She shut her hateful eyes at this and shook her 
head, but our hostess drew forward a long oaken 
bench, and signed to us to seat ourselves. 

Presently the crone raised her head, blinking her 
wicked green eyes till she looked just like an old 
cat. 

" Kemper-Corentin, Kemper-Corentin." Her voice 
had a sort of nasal drawl as she repeated the words to 
herself. She shook her head again, and looked into 
the fire. 

" We are going on to Quimperle, to Pont-Aven, 
and to Tregunc," our friend said to her in Breton. 

"Ah!" The hostess bent down over the old 
woman. We heard the words Kemperle and Tregunc, 
and we saw her point to a cauldron suspended over 
the wood-fire on the hearth. The beggar nodded, 
thrust one hand into the pot and pulled out a potato. 
Then she proceeded to tear the skin off with her long 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



black nails, and when it was skinned, she crammed it 
nearly whole into her mouth. Our hostess nodded and 
winked at us. " Wait till she has eaten it," she said 
in French. 

" Maharit," the old woman said, looking at the 
little girl. The child seemed to understand her by 
instinct. She went up to the huge black table, pulled 
at the half open drawer, and came back with a dirty 
mug half-full of buttermilk. The old woman drank 
this greedily, drew her hand across her lipless mouth, 
and then began a sort of low chant-, seemingly addressed 
to the fire. As she went on her voice grew earnest, 
but the words being Breton we could not understand 
them ; but afterwards, when our friend told us the story 
the old woman had related, we could feel how graphic 
the narration had been, and how completely in the 
telling she had identified herself with the distraught 
Guern and his lost love. 

^ije iF^rrj of Carnoen 

The river Laita, which leads from Quimperle to the 
ancient monastery of St. Maurice, flows along the 
border of the forest of Carnoet, and through a long 
series of beautiful meadows. Clumps of pines, chest- 



FROM NORMA ND V A ND BRITTANY. 1 9 

nuts, and other trees adorn the charming banks of this 
river, and offer abundant subjects to both poet and 
painter. 

In some parts the banks are very lofty, and the 
trees completely overhang the water, so that under 
their cool shade the fisherman avoids the noontide 
heat and takes his siesta in comfort. 

About a league below Quimperle is the ferry of 
Garnoet. Some portions of the old chateau of Carnoet 
still remain, and tradition says that this building was 
one of the many residences of the infamous Count 
Commore (the Bluebeard of Brittany), who is said to 
have murdered his numerous wives. 

On the banks of the river an old oak stands at 
some distance from the ferry, its almost branchless 
trunk leans far over the stream and looks as if it must 
fall into the water. It is a very ancient tree, and a 
weird legend is attached to it. 

Many years ago there lived in the village of 
Clohars a young couple called Guern and Maharit ; they 
were betrothed, and were to be married two days after 
the " Pardon of the birds," which, as every one knows, 
happens every year in the month of June at the 
entrance of the forest of Carnoet. 

One evening after sunset the lovers came home 



20 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

from a visit to some relations in the parish of Guidel ; 
when they reached the ferry of Carnoet, Guern shouted 
for the ferryman. 

" Wait for me, Maharit," he said, " while I go and 
light my pipe at my godfather's cottage ; it is close by." 

The boatman of the ferry was a mysterious being 
who lived alone in a hut beside the river. Strange 
stories were told of him. It grew darker and darker, 
and Maharit felt timid at the thought of being left 
alone. " Do not be long away, Guern," she said. 

" I will be back, my beloved, before you are in the 
boat," and he ran away. The ferryman soon appeared : 
he was tall and wild-looking, and long grey hair floated 
over his shoulders. 

"Who wants me.?" he growled. "It is too late. 
Are you alone maiden V 

" Loik Guern is coming ; he has only gone to light 
his pipe." 

" He must be quick then ; — get into the boat," said 
the ferryman impatiently. 

The girl obeyed mechanically, but she was surprised 
and frightened to see the ferryman jump and push the 
boat off from the bank without a moment's delay. 

" What are you doing, my friend .''" she cried. " We 
must wait for Loik Guern, I tell you." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 21 

There was no answer, and now the boat reached 
the current, but instead of passing across to the oppo- 
site shore they shot rapidly down the river. 

"Stop, stop, my friend, for pity's sake!" cried 
Maharit in an agonised voice. " We must go back ; 
what will Loik Guern say to such folly ? " She 
clasped her hands imploringly; but the ferryman neither 
spoke nor looked at her, and the boat still impelled 
forward, descended the river more and more rapidly. 

Maharit bent towards the shore. " Loi'k, Loi'k," 
she cried. The words died away on her lips, for she 
saw shadowy forms standing on the gloomy banks ; 
they stretched their arms towards her with menacing 
gestures, and she drew back shuddering. She knew 
these were the spirits of the murdered wives of Commore. 
Maharit uttered a loud cry and fell lifeless in the 
bottom of the boat. 

Loi'k Guern lit his pipe, said a few words to his 
godfather, and hastened back to the ferry. But 
Maharit was gone, and the boat was gone too ! He 
gazed anxiously across the river, and up and down its 
banks, now cold and sombre in the gathering darkness. 
There was no sound or sign of living thing. 

"Maharit, Maharit," he cried, "where art thou?" 
From far away a cry came to him on the night breeze. 



22 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

At that moment the boat disappeared round a turn In 
the river. 

" Maharit, Maharit ; P^re Pouldu," shouted Guern. 

Suddenly, from amidst the tall weeds and rushes 
near the ferry, rose up the gaunt figure of an old 
beggar woman. 

" You waste your breath, young man," she said. 
" The boat and those in it are already far from here," 
and she pointed down the river. 

" What do you mean, mother } What has happened 
to Maharit .?" 

" The young girl is gone to the shores of the de- 
parted ; she forgot to make the sign of the cross when 
she got into the boat, and she also looked behind her." 

" You are mad," cried the peasant impatiently. 
" Go to the devil with your old wives' tales." 

He did not wait for an answer ; he set off running 
like a madman along the river banks in the direction 
the old woman had pointed out, waking the silence of 
the night with cries for his beloved Maharit. 

" Come back to me," he cried, " come back." But 
all in vain. 

At daybreak Guern returned worn out and weary 
to his village. He went to the parents of the young 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 23 

girl — to her friends. He asked tidings of Maharit of 
every one he met, but he could gain no news of her, 
she had not been seen. 

He passed the next three days in wild despair, 
searching for his beloved in the neighbouring villages 
and through the forest. Towards evening, on the third 
day, he sat down on a rock beside the river, overcome 
with grief and fatigue. Suddenly the old beggar 
woman stood before him. He had not heard her 
approach ; she seemed to spring out of the earth. 

"Well, my poor little Guern, hast thou found thy 
beloved } hast thou seen Maharit V 

" Alas, no, mother ! May the good God have pity 
on me, I am heart-broken," he said with tears in 
his eyes. " Have j/oti news of the sweet child ? Tell 
me, for Christ's dear sake ! Speak quickly, mother. We 
only waited for the pardon of Toul-Foen to become 
man and wife." 

" I have told you all I know, my poor Guern. The 
child forgot to make the sign of the cross when she 
got into the boat, and she spoke and looked behind 
her, and this gave the cruel ferryman power over her, 
and he has taken her to the shores of the ' departed.' " 

"Where is this accursed shore of the dead .''" 

" Ah, my poor Guern, blaspheme not," interrupted 



24 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



the old woman. " It is a secret from Christians ; it is 
the secret of the sorcerer Milliguet — he personates the 
ferryman ; he conducts the boat from this haunted 
spot, and loses many souls. Yes, he is powerful ; but 
those whom Jesus loves are able to overcome him — and 
the charitable are always blessed by God. I am only 
a poor old woman, Loi'k Guern. I am hungry — I am 
very hungry." 

" My poor mother," said the young peasant, 
*' here is some bread — take it. I care for nothing 
since I lost Maharit," and he burst into tears as he 
gave her his black loaf. 

" Thank you, Guern. Ah, what a good heart you 
have ! You are a good Christian, and if you do as I bid 
— and if it is the will of God — you may release Maharit." 

" The Holy Virgin reward you," said the poor 
fellow ; and he looked up with hope in his eyes. 
"What shall I do, mother.?" 

" You must first cut a branch of holly, and you 
must cut it at midnight, in the village of the Korrigans. 
You know where it is, in the forest underneath the spot 
called ' the Stag's Leap.' Dip this holly branch in the 
holy water-stoup at the chapel of St. Leger, then at 
dusk go with it to the ferry." 

"Yes, my mother," said Guern, eagerly. "And 
what next ?" 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 25 



" Be patient, my son." She raised her shrivelled 
hand warningly. " You must then call the ferryman. 
This fellow has sold himself to the evil one," she 
went on, " and when you have got into the boat, be 
sure you do not look about or behind you, for every 
night the banks of the river are haunted by the dead 
wives of Commore, and their cries and gestures will 
trouble your reason. You will neither see nor hear 
them unless you look about or behind you. You must 
tell your beads diligently, and above all you must make 
the sign of the cross reverently ; and when you have 
come to the thirty-third bead of your rosary — the 
thirty-third you understand — " 

" Yes, my mother, yes," said the young man breath- 
lessly. 

" You must raise the blessed holly branch and 
show it to the ferryman, and then in the name of 
Christ command him to take you living to the shores 
of the dead. Miliguet will tremble at the sight of 
the holly branch, and his power will leave him, and 
he will obey you. Do you remember all I have told 
you, Lo'ik Guern V 

" Yes, my mother, and what will be the end ?" 

" I see no farther," she said. " I can tell you 
nothing more, my son. Do exactly as I bid you, and 
wait in hope for the end." 



26 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

She disappeared as suddenly as she had come, 
leaving Guern full of eager hope. 

At midnight, he found his way to the village of 
the Korrigans. Close by the Stag's Leap he cut a 
branch of holly, and then he went off to the chapel of 
St. Leger, dipped the holly in the blessed fountain, 
and earnestly entreated the aid of the saint. 

The next evening at sunset he went alone to the 
ferry of Carnoet, keeping the holly branch carefully 
hidden under his long jacket. 

" Hola ! Pere Pouldu, ferry, ferry! " he shouted. 

The ferryman came, and Guern got into the boat 
without a word. There was deep silence, only broken 
by the plash of the ferryman's oars in the water. At 
first Guern began to tell his beads silently, but with 
fervour ; but by the time the boat had reached the 
middle of the river he was so overcome by the 
remembrance of his lost Maharit that he forgot his 
prayers and the old woman's caution ; he looked behind 
him, the string of beads slipped from his trembling 
hands and fell into the water. 

Instantly loud cries resounded along the banks, 
and the boat, drawn into the current, turned and 
dashed down the river with frightful rapidity. 

Guern roused himself, and remembered the holly 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 27 

branch ; he drew it forth and waved it before the silent 
ferryman. 

" Conduct me to the shores of the departed," he 
cried ; " take me to my betrothed." But in his agita- 
tion he forgot to say the word " livingr 

The boatman took no heed ; the boat drove on. 
Then, with an impulse over which he had no control, 
Guern in wild despair struck the ferryman with the 
consecrated branch. 

The strange man uttered a terrible cry — threw down 
his oars — and plunged into the dark water. Still the 
boat drove madly on — on — on ! Guern could never tell 
how long — till it struck with awful violence against a 
rock and was dashed to pieces beneath a gnarled oak 
that bent over the river. 

For years afterwards, at all the pardons of Clohars, 
of St. Leger and their neighbourhood, was to be seen 
a pale distracted-looking man who ran hither and thither 
among the crowd. He cried out piteously, while tears 
ran down his furrowed cheeks, " Ah, my friends ; ah, 
for the love of God and the saints, take me to the 
shores of the dead !" 

The young people used to look at him with surprise 
and pity, but the older folk only shook their heads 
and said " It is the poor madman of the ferry ; it is 
Lofk Guern." 



28 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



CHAPTER III. 

QUIMPER — OUR LANDLADY'S AUNT'S STORY -"THE TWO 
NEIGHBOURS OF QULMPER." 

Next day when we reached Quimper we wondered that 
old Barba — for we found that her name was Barba 
Keroes — had had no story to tell us about this most quaint 
and picturesque of Breton towns. It may certainly be 
considered the capital of Finistere, and seems to contain 
in its aspect, its people, and their costumes, the very 
essence of all that is Breton — la vraie Bretagne breton- 
nante. Lounging in front of our comfortable inn on 
the banks of the Odet we told our landlady about old 
Barba and her stories. 

" There are many tales about Quimper, too," she 
said. " I suppose you know all about King Gradlon 
and St. Corentin, and about Fontenelle and his attack." 

Yes ; we had heard all these stories — in fact we had 
grown rather tired of King Gradlon and the drowning of 
Ker-Is, having heard so much about it at Douarnenez. 

The landlady looked back at her room on the left 
of the entrance. " My old aunt there," she smiled 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



29 



incredulously, " is a true Breton, and she has some strange 




SPIRES OF CATHEDRAL, QUIMPER. 



legends ; one, which I suppose is true, about the 
Cathedral, though i^ seems hard to helieve." 



30 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Why do you suppose it to be true ? " I asked. 

" Ah, Madame ! it must be true — when you go to see 
our Cathedral — and I can tell you it is worth going to 
see, — in a side chapel on the left side you will be shown 
a picture that tells the end of my aunt's story. Come 
in, come in, Mesdames, and talk to her — she is as deaf 
as a post ; but she can tell you her story in French." 

We went in out of the sunshine and found the little 
aunt half-asleep in a low chair. She was a tiny, frail- 
looking dark-eyed woman ; very clean and neat, but so 
shy and nervous that she formed a striking contrast to 
Barba Keroes. And she told her story in quite another 
manner ; in a monotonous feeble sing-song that almost 
robbed it of all interest. 



^z ^tDO jReiffPour^ of 2Duimper^ 

Chapter I. 

ON THE MARKET-PLACE. 

Long ago, centuries before its two graceful spires 
adorned the cathedral of St. Corentin, Jehan Kergrist 
and Olivier Logonna were the firmest pair of friends in 
the fair city of Quimper. For Ouimper must always 
have been a fair city ; even at this distance of time, so 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



31 




OLD HOUSES, QUIMPER. 

much of the moss of a former age clings about its quaint 
market-place ; on its tree-shaded quays ; its rivers 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



where old grey gabled and towered houses look down 
at their own reflections in the water below — and, chief 
of all, in its grey old streets — that it is easy to call up 
a picture of the past, more especially on market-days, 
when the costumes and language of the people who 
come in crowds from the surrounding country are little 
different from what they were many hundred years ago. 

There is a market to-day, and Jehan and Olivier are 
chatting together as they stroll among the booths and 
stalls. Suddenly they stand still. The eyes of both fix 
in one direction, and each man is seemingly so interested 
in what he sees that he does not ask his companion the 
reason of the sudden silence that has come between 
them. 

A tall lay Sister is buying cabbages at the vegetable 
stall opposite. She takes up first one and then another 
of the huge heads so like immense green roses, lays 
them in her flat palms and poises them carefully. Then 
she smiles down at her companion. 

" Thou art no judge of cabbages, little one," she 
says, " or I should ask thee to see how much difference 
there can be between two vegetables which to the eye 
look the same." 

There is a smile on her companion's face, but the 
smiles of age and youth are as unlike as the cabbages 



FROM NOR%fANDY AND BRITTANY. 33 

in question. Sister Ursula's smile creases the corners of 
her mouth and wrinkles her sallow face, while the smile 
of FranQoise Nevez dimples and makes her pensive face 
beautiful. 

" Sister Ursula," she says playfully, " Is it not so 
with men and women } Some who look one as good 
as another are really quite different." 

A flush comes on Sister Ursula's pale face. 

" It may be so with women, my child," she says 
hastily. " Of men and their ways I know nothing, 
God be thanked," and she crosses herself devoutly. 

FranQoise laughed ; but men being a forbidden 
topic and cabbages not specially interesting, she looked 
round in search of amusement, and she met the full 
gaze of the two friends. 

She shrank from being stared at, and so bright 
a colour rose in her face that Sister Ursula saw it, 
and being much accustomed to the charge of the 
young girls educated at the convent of Locmaria, in a 
moment she had discovered the cause. 

" Come, come, my daughter," she said anxiously, 
" it is time for us to go home. Annik has all we want 
in her basket ; she can follow us." 

She looked round at a stout, black-browed, bare- 
footed serving -maid, whose square -topped close linen 

D 



34 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

cap, not unlike a sugar-bag, set off her red cheeks and 
showed her to be an inhabitant of Quimper itself; the 
cap was far less picturesque than some of the other 
headpieces worn by Pont-l'Abbe and Pont-Aven women, 
and also by those of the other towns and villages who 
brought their goods to the Great Square of Quimper 
on market-day. 

But Fran^oise lagged behind — at last she looked 
back over her shoulder. 

" Sister Ursula," she said shyly, " did you see those 
two youths near us just now .''" 

" Well, what of them } they are just like other men." 
Sister Ursula spoke sharply. She had looked on men 
all her life as incarnations of evil. It disturbed her 
that her favourite Fran^oise should waste a thought on 
such godless mortals. 

" But one of them is Monsieur Jehan Kergrist ; I 
am sure it is he. He used to come and see me at my 
godfather's, and we used to play in the garden together, 
and — and my godfather loved him dearly." She blushed 
again ; she remembered that Jehan had always called 
her his little wife. " Yes, I am sure it is Jehan, though 
he is altered." She looked over her shoulder again. 

" Come, come along, my child ; we are late already." 
Sister Ursula's face puckered with anxiety. What 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 35 

would the Abbess think, or Sister Clara, the mistress 
of the novices, if she, Ursula, who had always been 
looked on as the best watch-dog the convent possessed, 
suffered Fran^oise Nevez — the fairest, and in expectancy 
the richest, ward of the community — to look after a 
young man in the market-place of Quimper ? " Is the 
child in love ? " she asked herself. 

What love might be Ursula did not know ; but she 
believed it to be a species of Evil Eye or glamour cast 
by men — always incarnations of evil — on hapless girls, 
whom it usually led to misery and perdition, especially 
if the girls chanced to be rich and handsome. 

Old Marie, the sieve-seller, had loitered over a 
bargain she was making to watch the little incident just 
recorded. The young men stood near her, and she had 
noted the direction of their eyes. When FranQoise 
looked over her shoulder at Jehan Kergrist, the old 
woman clapped her hands and laughed out loud. 

" Thou art in luck, my son," she said to Jehan ; 
"that backward glance was for thee." She looked 
mockingly at Olivier Logonna, who was frowning till 
his black brows met over his narrow blood-shot eyes. 

" Silence, old fool," he said. " How can a blind old 
beetle like you pretend to say which of us Mademoiselle 



36 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Nevez saw when she looked back just now ? That old 
dragon of a sister was scolding her, I swear." 

" Holy Virgin !" Marie crossed herself, and Jeanne 
Pichon, who was haggling over a sieve, also crossed 
herself, and shook her linen-capped head vigorously ; 
" dragon is no name for good Sister Ursula. Fie for 
shame, young man ! Are you a heretic, or has Satan 
himself taken hold on you, that you can so speak of a 
holy sister of the sainted Cross V 

" Mind your sieves, you old crow," Olivier said 
savagely. 

Jehan looked in wonder at his friend, and he pulled 
his arm to draw him farther from the gossips. 

" Be quiet, Kergrist," — Olivier looked still more 
angry. " You will tear the braid off my sleeve with 
your violence. Go, if you want to go," he threw his 
arm from him rudely. " I am in no such haste to leave 
the market." 

Jehan looked surprised, then annoyed ; but Marie's 
two companions began to giggle at the quarrel between 
the friends. Jehan bit his lip and walked across the 
market-place to a gabled house behind the cathedral. 

As he passed in through the low round-headed 
doorway, the light streamed into the shop, and showed 
its dark oak-panelled walls and carved presses full of 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, yj 

merchandise. An inner door facing the entrance stood 
open and revealed the massive staircase pillar with carved 
figures of saints guarding every landing, and a wealth 
of quaint masks and scrollwork between. The kitchen 
was screened off on the left from the staircase by a 
carved partition of black oak about ten feet high ; the 
stone walls on each side, except at the staircase opening, 
went up without any intervening ceiling to the skylight 
above. Jehan went on hurriedly beyond staircase and 
kitchen to a small richly furnished room. He closed 
the door behind him, turned the quaintly-worked key 
in the massive lock, and then sat down before an old 
desk and rested his head on his hands. 

" I did not know it," he said sadly ; " and yet, now I 
think over the last few days, I might have known it — 
Olivier loves Fran^oise. What can I do .? I would 
give my own life for him, and yet I cannot give up my 
hopes." 

He covered his face with his hands, but he soon 
looked up again, and there was a smile on his honest 
face ; he was not nearly so handsome as Olivier — there 
was a heavy squareness about his features, but his eyes 
were dark and sweet. 

" It must be so," he said. " I never saw him so 
moved ; he is always so staid and discreet. But I have 



38 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

loved her all my life," he went on. " I know it now, 
and Olivier has only seen her by chance — two or three 
times in the market-place — he has not even spoken to 
her, and he is always taken up with the last new face." 
He paused again, and a downcast look saddened his 
face. " It may be that FranQoise would like him best ; 
girls are apt to like men who have had successes with 
women better than us simple fellows who only care for 
earnest honest love. But I will not be faint-hearted. 
Let us both try ; we are each rich enough to marry, 
thanks to the thrift and skill of our parents, and 
FranQoise shall choose for herself. After all, I can but 
remain single for her sake — her happiness is the chief 
thing — sweet child." 



Chapter 1 1. 

godfather picard. 

The Abbess of the Convent of Holy Cross had risen 
from her high-backed oak chair, and was moving towards 
the door of her room. She stopped and turned round. 
"Good day, Monsieur Picard ;" she bowed stiffly to 
her visitor. " As you specially require it, I will send 
the child to you, though you might have trusted to me 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 39 

to find out her wishes, since you consider that her 
inclination is to be studied." 

The Abbess was a tall fine woman with a noble 
face, so pale that it scarcely seemed made of fiesh and 
blood, but the smile that came with her words gave her 
a sarcastic, almost a cruel, expression. 

Jean Picard's broad red face grew crimson, and his 
heavy brows met in a frown. 

" Undoubtedly I do, Madame," he said sternly. " I 
married for love myself, and I never repented my act. 
Why shouldn't this poor little girl — as good as a child 
to me — have the same luck ?" 

" Luck is a false word, sir," — her smile grew pitying, 
— " luck has nothing to do with the children of Holy 
Church. Good morning. Monsieur Picard." 

She went out of the room, her thick woollen robes 
filling up the doorway as she passed through. As soon 
as the door shut behind her. Monsieur gave a sigh of 
relief and sat down in the Abbess's chair. 

" She's a good woman, that I doubt not ; but she 
has an eye to business," he said crossly. " She's not 
the saint my little Fran^oise makes her out to be. The 
Abbess knows as well as I do that Olivier Logonna is 
a richer man now, and likely to be in the future a 
much richer man than Jehan Kergrist can ever be, and 



40 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

she foresees that there will be more to be made for the 
convent out of Madame Logonna than out of Madame 
Kergrist ; and, maybe, Olivier's handsome face and 
smooth tongue have had their way. Did she let him 
see Frangoise, I wonder ? Surely she would not venture 
without my permission." 

The door opened, and in came Francoise Nevez ; 
such a contrast with her bright face and golden hair to 
the pale, black-robed nun who had just left the room, that 
even to the prosaic old merchant, Jean Picard, it seemed 
as if sunshine had come into the room with his ward. 

She ran up to him, kissed him on both cheeks 
before he could rise to greet her, and then put both her 
hands on his shoulders. 

" What mischief is brewing, my dear godfather 1 — 
two visitors in one day is quite an event for Holy Cross, 
I can tell you ; and you are the second gentleman who 
has come to see our Mother this afternoon." 

Jean Picard grunted and looked very cross. 

" Ah ! " he said " who was the other .? " 

FranQoise smiled and blushed. 

" It was Monsieur Olivier Logonna." 

" And what do you know about Logonna .?" Picard 
spoke roughly. " You have never seen him at my 
house. What is he like, child ?" 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 41 

" Oh, I have seen him several times at market and 
in church, and to-day, wlien I was in the garden water- 
ing my flowers, our Mother passed by and presented 
Monsieur Logonna to me." 

Picard grew red and angry. 

"Well, and what do you think of him ?" 

The girl thought her guardian was jealous and 
tyrannical, and she felt inclined to tease. 

" I thought a great many things," and she looked 
down demurely on the floor. 

"Confound all women!" but Picard said this to 
himself — he looked awkwardly at his ward, and plunged 
his broad hand in among his hair. 

"Do you want him for a husband?" he spoke so 
crossly that FranQoise started. 

" I never said so." Tears sprang in her eyes. 
" Why are you angry with me, godfather 1 may I not 
speak to anyone besides you V 

She had seated herself beside him on a low wooden 
stool, and as she spoke she stroked the back of his hand 
as it lay in his lap. 

Jean Picard looked wistfully round the room, as if 
he expected some of the figures in the pictures that 
decorated the walls — a dark series representing the 
Triumphs of the cross^ — to come down and tell him how 



42 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

to manage his ward. Jehan Kergrist had come to him 
that morning and had proposed for Frangoise Nevez, and 
it had seemed such easy work to say "Yes," if FranQoise 
were willing ; and now, instead of »being able to plead 
for his young friend, he found that Olivier Logonna had 
been before him, both with the Abbess and with 
Frangoise. 

"Jehan has been a fool," he muttered; "why did 
he delay ? such a girl as Frangoise cannot be hidden 
away — did he think no one had eyes but himself?" . 

" Come, come, godfather," — the girl spoke half 
coaxingly, half pettishly, — " why may I not speak to 
Monsieur Logonna?" 

Jean looked down at her for a minute, and then he 
laid his hand on her golden head. 

" You have not answered my question, little one. 
When you have done that, I will tell you what I think 
of Olivier Logonna." 

" It is not a reasonable question, godfather," she 
pouted — then she looked winningly in his face. " How 
can I want a husband when I have you for a father ? " 

Pic::rd brightened with pleasure ; he bent down and 
kissed her fair forehead. 

" Yes, my child, you must have a husband to take 
care of you, and if you wish for this Logonna you shall 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 43 

have him. He says he loves you, he has told the 
Abbess he does, and God forbid that I, of all men, should 
cross true love, even if it crosses my own wish. I had 
other hopes, but never mind them now." 

Fran^oise flushed deeply and looked down. Picard 
sighed ; it seemed to him that this was her answer. 
She had chosen Olivier Logonna — what need to trouble 
her tender heart with the tale of Jehan Kergrist's 
love } 

He stroked her soft hair gently. 

" Then it is settled, my little girl ;" he spoke gently. 
" I will tell Logonna that you will listen to him, and you 
must come home for the wooing." 

He felt the head twitch away from his fingers, and 
Fran^oise rose up quickly. 

" Oh godfather, what do you mean — why do we go 
on teasing one another } Monsieur Logonna looked 
pleasant, and he spoke to me, but I could never marry 
him — never," she cried with emphasis. 

Jean Picard looked helplessly at the pictures again. 
What did Fran^oise mean } was there any hope for 
Jehan, or should he, by speaking of his young friend's 
love, ruin his hopes } 

" If Marie had given me any daughters," he thought, 
his face getting more and more perplexed, " I should 



44 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

then have learned how to deal with Fran(5oise. How 
am I to find out what this wayward child means ? " 

Francoise had stood silently watching his face ; she 
was timid as w^ell as impulsive, and it seemed to her 
that her frankness had vexed her good godfather. 

She looked down at her pretty feet, and twisted 
her fingers together. 

" Papa Picard 1 " He looked up and the perplexity 
cleared away. Ever since Francoise had been a todd- 
ling rosy child of three years old she had called him 
Papa Picard ; and now it seemed to honest, troubled 
Jean, that the reserve which her four years of convent 
life had brought into their intercourse had suddenly 
melted ; she was again his merry mischievous FranQoise, 
the child he was bound to advise and protect, and who 
was to inherit his large fortune. 

'"' Yes, yes, my little one ;" he rose up, put a hand 
on each of her shoulders, and kissed her forehead. 
" What does my Francoise want of her old father V 

She blushed and hung her head. " Do you then 
wish me to marry Monsieur Logonna, godfather V 

Then she looked up and saw perplexity come back 
to his eyes and his lips, and she suddenly burst out 
laughing. "Papa Picard, you want me to marry some 
one else," she said. "Who is it V 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 45 

Jean Picard took his hand from her shoulder, pulled 
out his handkerchief, and wiped his hot face. 

" The Holy Virgin be praised," he said ; " my child 
shall not marry anyone she cannot love with her whole 
heart !" He stopped, then he hurried on : " If she can 
love Jehan Kergrist, Papa Picard would like her to marry 
him." 

Fran^oise turned away quickly, and Picard thought 
she was vexed again ; she went up to the window and 
began tapping the small diamond panes with her fingers, 
while she gazed at some tall white lilies growing in one 
of the square flower pots of the convent garden. 

Picard waited — but at last he grew impatient. 

" I must be going, child ;" she turned round, and 
he saw that her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes had 
a sweet suffused look that was very like happiness. 
"Come, come, this will do!" he muttered, "you are 
getting on, Jean ; you begin to understand young girls!" 
then with a twinkle in his eyes, " I am then to say ' No ' 
to Monsieur Logonna, and ' No ' also to Jehan — is it so, 
my child.?" 

FranQoise screwed her lips together. " Suppose," 
she looked up brightly in his face, " you only do one 
message, Papa Picard ; I want to be so sure that Mon- 
sieur Kergrist is in earnest — that — that — he had better 
ask me himself." 



46 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



Chapter III. 

A TEMPTATION. 

Four years have passed since Jehan Kergrist wedded 
fair FranQoise Nevez in the cathedral of St. Corentin. 
It was a gay marriage, and the young couple had the 
good will and hearty prayers of most Quimper folk. 
Jehan had not hitherto had an enemy in the town, but 
his marriage had at first cost him his dearest friend. 

For six months Olivier Logonna disappeared from 
Quimper, and when he came back he was a changed 
man ; he gave up all the pleasures to which he had been 
so much addicted, he never went into any company, nor 
was he often seen out of doors ; he spent all his time 
in his counting-house, or in making journeys connected 
with his business. At first he shunned his old com- 
panions, but Jehan's frank cordiality broke down Olivier's 
coldness, and soon the friends were to be seen crossing 
the market-place together as usual, and frequently in 
one another's shops ; on one point Olivier remained 
firm — he would not enter his neighbour's dwelling-house. 

" I go nowhere," he said, and Jehan was obliged to 
accept the excuse. 

He accepted it the more readily because FranQoise 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 47 

had a strong dislike to Olivier. When she found out 
that Logonna had known of his friend's long-cherished 
love for her, she could not forgive his request to the 
Abbess for leave to wed her. 

" You are well rid of such a friend," she said to her 
husband ; " he cannot be honest." 

" Hush, my child," Jehan had answered. " Olivier 
is one of the first and most highly honoured merchants 
of Quimper." 

And so he was — his business went on increasing 
and increasing, and people wondered why he did not 
marry, for, like Jehan, he was an only son, and had lost 
his parents early. 

Jehan Kergrist's affairs had also prospered, and he 
had two rosy little sons so like him that Jean Picard 
often scolded FranQoise, and asked her why she had 
not bestowed some of her own good looks on her little 
ones. 

But now, at the end of the four years, war broke out 
in Brittany ; towns were taken and pillaged, and pro- 
perty was no longer safe. 

Jehan sat in his counting-house, with an open letter 
in his hand. It was from England, and it held the 
offer of a profitable undertaking ; indeed, the profits 
offered were so large that he scarcely felt justified in 



48 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



refusing the business. But yet he shrank from leaving 
his home at such an uncertain time of strife and blood- 
shed. 

He would not tell Fran^oise — why should he lay on 
her his perplexity ? There was no one to advise him, 
his old friend Picard had gone to Normandy to secure 
some property he held there. So Jehan had to keep 
his troubles to himself, and he went about all that day 
with an anxious face and a troubled spirit. 

He met Olivier Logonna in the market-place, but 
he said nothing to him. He could not confide to this 
friend that which was still untold to Fran^oise. 

In the evening, just as he was preparing, in the 
homely fashion of those days, to close his shop with his 
apprentice's help, he met Logonna on the door-step. 

" I want you to come and see me, Jehan," Olivier 
smiled genially. " I have shut myself up too long — I 
mean to admit my friends again, and I will begin with 
you, the best friend I have." 

Jehan hesitated ; he knew that in their boyhood he 
had always told all his secrets to Olivier, and had re- 
ceived none of his friend's in return ; there seemed, too, 
a magnetic power in the silent Logonna which had 
always drawn his friend on to confidence, but he did 
not want to confide in him now. And yet if he told 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 49 

FranQoise as soon as he came home, why should he not 
ask Ohvier's opinion ? He hesitated again. Would 
Fran9oise like him to go and spend an evening with the 
man she so shrank from ? 

" Thank you, my friend," he said ; " I fear I cannot 
come." 

" Then," Olivier looked very sad and downcast, " it 
is as I feared — you have never forgiven me, Jehan ; all 
your kindness has been a sham." 

He turned to go away, but Jehan caught his arm. 

" Stay — I will come. I will tell FranQoise not to 
wait for me." 

Logonna stopped him. 

" Do not say to your wife that you are coming to 
me ; you can truly say you have business this evening, 
for it is business I want to talk with you." 

Jehan looked unwilling — but he went back to speak 
to his wife. 

Only the maid Gwen and the eldest boy were in the 
sitting-room. 

" My mistress is upstairs with Conan," the girl said. 

Jehan left a message for Francoise, and went back 
to his friend ; he was not sorry to miss seeing his wife. 

Since his marriage Jehan had added many comforts 

to his home, and he was greatly struck by the bareness 

E 



50 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

of Olivier's room. The weather was cold, but there 
was no fire on the empty hearth ; and it seemed to 
Kergrlst that some of the ancient carved furniture he 
remembered had disappeared. 

Logonna was very friendly, but as soon as they were 
seated he suddenly said — 

" Now, Jehan, what ails you "i have you made a bad 
bargain, or lost a cargo of merchandise } something is 
troubling you." 

His dark eyes glowed as he fixed them on Jehan's 
face ; the long and narrow gaze had the strange fascina- 
tion of a serpent. 

Jehan struggled ; he tried to withdraw his eyes from 
Logonna's, but he could not, and without his will his 
tongue answered : " Yes, my friend ; I have a trouble." 

" Ah," Olivier sighed, but he kept silence ; he trusted 
to his eyes more than to his tongue. 

Kergrist grew restless under the long narrow gaze ; 
he fidgeted and tried to look away. In vain, his eyes 
came back and settled with an increasing expression of 
trust on his friend's face. 

" It seems selfish," he began, " to trouble you with 
my troubles ; besides, I ought to be man enough to 
bear them for myself" 

" That is not the teaching we get in church," said 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 51 

Olivier ; " the sermon of last Sunday told us to ' bear 
one another's burdens.'" He looked devout, and crossed 
himself, that his friend might see he was in earnest. 

Jehan was puzzled and touched. Olivier had 
never taken this tone with him before; it was rather the 
sort of reasoning he might have expected from FranQoise. 

" I will tell you my perplexity," he said at last ; 
"your wits are sharper than mine, and you will help me 
to see what I should do." Olivier listened with fixed 
attention, but when Jehan spoke of the offer that had 
been made him, a fierce light shone in Logonna's eyes ; 
he checked this, and forced his lips into a smile of con- 
gratulation. 

"You would have to be absent for some time," he 
said. 

" Yes," Jehan sighed, " there is my trouble ; who 
can say what may happen to Quimper in two or three 
months, in seven or eight weeks even, and I might be 
longer ; am I right to risk so much for profit V 

Olivier closed his eyes till they looked like two 
black oblique lines. He sat thinking for a few moments. 

" You say there is no time to lose," he said ; " you 
must go at once or relinquish the affair ; well, let us 
consider." 

His heavy eyebrows met, and his lips closed tightly." 



52 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

For a moment he thought he would make Kergrist give 
up the enterprise and snatch at it himself, so great was 
his greed for gold ; but this could not be done secretly, 
and he must not lose his character in Quimper for fair 
dealing. Suddenly he looked up, his face aglow as he 
smiled brightly at his friend. " I have it, Jehan ; you 
can do it safely. Sell your stock and your house — 
you will easily find a purchaser — convert all you have 
into money, and then you can go away happy." 

" And my wife and children V Jehan looked angry. 
Did Olivier then suppose that he cared more for his 
goods than he did for his family t 

" Your wife and children will be safe with Jean 
Picard, and surely, Jehan, you will also rely on my 
devotion." 

Kergrist looked unwilling, but he grasped his friend's 
outstretched hand. " And the money, what can I do 
with it .'* In such times as these, whose money is safe t 
I cannot leave it with Jean Picard, he is getting old." 

" I will take charge of it," said Olivier. " I promise 
you that I will watch over it as carefully as if it were 
my own. Come, Jehan, trust my counsel ; be at rest ; 
a husband and a father has no right to lose such a 
splendid chance of doubling his fortune." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 53 



Chapter IV. 

A TRAITOR. 

A LITTLE way out of Quimper, beside the tree-shaded 
river, there was a pleasant many-gabled stone house, 
with a quaint round staircase tower at two of its 
corners. The wall that shut it in from the path beside 
the river was built of regular blocks of the same dark 
grey greenstone, and in front, betw^een this wall and the 
house itself, was a pleasant strip of garden planted with 
quaint starry flowers and aromatic herbs. Behind the 
house, and on each side where the space was larger, 
were orchards with purple plums and rich brown pears 
ripening in the warm August sunshine. 

Looking under the trees, you might have seen 
beyond them a plot of open ground, green and gold 
just now, with its crop of gourds and cabbages, over 
w^hich a few butterflies still hovered, but over the herb- 
bed in front hung quite a colony of busy bees, filling the 
air with their soft humming. 

There was a cheerful glow about the scene, and 
when presently two fat square-faced children, in long 
jackets and baggy breeches, came running out of the 



54 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

house, their merry faces and shrill outcries of joy 
seemed quite in keeping with the rest. 

" Mother, mother," they cried joyfully, " there are 
more bees than ever to-day." 

Franqoise came out of the low round-headed door- 
way. She smiled at her children's words, but the smile 
faded at once from her pale face. She turned away 
and walked on till she reached the right-hand corner of 
the house, and then she went slowly into the orchard, 
her black dress and white cap in harmony with the 
green below and around her. 

" Ah, my husband," she was saying to herself, "what 
can keep you from me } — a year to-morrow since you 
went away — what can it be .?" 

She had shrunk with a fear she could not give a 
reason for from her husband's undertaking ; but Jean 
Picard loudly advocated it, and offered so heartily to 
take the young wife and children to his home beside 
the Odet, that FranQoise yielded when she saw that her 
husband really wished to go. 

For the first tv/o months she had from time to time 
received letters from Jehan ; then the war had extended 
from the frontier to the north coast of Brittany, and all 
tidings ceased. At last came a letter by a travelling 
pedlar, saying that Jehan had set out on his home 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 55 

journey ; but this had come several months ago, and 
no news could be gained of him. 

Old age was telling on Jean Picard ; he had long 
ago given up business, but of late, since a slight illness, 
his health and mind had grown very feeble, and Francoise 
felt she could no longer rely on his judgment. 

He had grown into a habit of consulting Olivier 
Logonna, and since he had become too feeble to go to 
Quimper, the rich young merchant came twice or thrice 
a week to the pleasant grey house beside the river, and 
sat for hours with Picard. 

At first Francoise avoided meeting him, but one 
day, some time after Jehan's departure, Logonna sur- 
prised her sitting with the old man. 

Olivier was so humble, so deeply reverent in his 
manner, he spoke so lovingly of her husband and of his 
return, that when he went awa}/ FranQoise rebuked 
herself for want of charity, and resolved to tolerate 
Monsieur Logonna's visits. Jean Picard counted the 
hours till he came again, and referred the most trifling 
matters to Olivier. 

The months lagged heavily by without any tidings, 
and Logonna came still oftener; Francoise was surprised 
one day at her own disappointment because he failed to 
come. She had few visitors, and it was a relief, after 



56 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the childish babbling of the old man, to turn to some 
one with her anxious hopes and fears ; besides this, she 
grew conscious of a strange power in those half- closed 
dark eyes that drew her irresistibly to confidence ; and as 
Logonna walked beside her under the trees, watching 
the changes of her sweet loving face, he saw his power ; 
his purpose strengthened— Fran^oise should be his, 
spite of all her present love for Jehan Kergrist. 

To-day beside the Odet he was busy with thoughts 
of Fran^oise. 

" My spies along the coast," he said, " are positive 
that Jehan has not landed ; he is either In a French 
prison, or he has fallen in trying to pass the frontier ; 
he may have suffered shipwreck, or he may have married 
an English wife." 

He did not believe this last idea, but he tried to 
force it on himself, so that he might impress it more 
powerfully on Fran^olse. He loved her too ardently to 
be sure of his own influence. 

" But even supposing the worst," he thought ; " if 
Jehan com.es back, he may have been plundered of his 

gains, and then " he paused, a dark stern look, as if 

the shadow of some evil being were reflected in his face, 
changed him into a distorted likeness of himself ; " and 
then," he went on with firm lips, "Jehan Kergrist is a 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 57 

beggar, and Fran^oise will shrink from beggary ; her 
own money belongs to the children, she cannot touch it, 
and she has always been used to riches ; her ways and 
habits are delicate and soft, she could not endure 
privation or discomfort. No — Jehan the beggar will 
not be welcome, and — but I am a fool to waste 
thought on that which is impossible. Jehan must 
not return." 

He urged on his horse, and soon reached the gabled 
house of Jean Picard. 

" I will be careful," he said to himself ; " no word 
or look shall betray me till my time comes ;" and after 
taking his horse to the stable, he stole softly into the 
orchard. 

When he came in sight of Fran^oise he stood still 
gazing. He was keenly alive to things of beauty, and 
the tall graceful figure, with its clasped hands and 
saddened face, made a picture of melancholy in vivid 
contrast to the glow all around, to the rich fruit smiling 
among the leaves overhead, and the golden light dancing 
in and out flecking the golden starred grass under foot, 
to the gay cries of the unseen children, and the soothing 
hum of the bees ; he felt compelled to stand and gaze. 
Fran(5oise was pondering his influence. " What is it 
that compels me to listen to him V she said ; " I believe 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



in him while he is near, and yet the instant he leaves 
me I shrink from him and his words." 

All at once she looked round and saw him so 
standing, with an eager look of excitement on his face. 

She gave a little cry and ran towards him. 

" You bring me news," she cried ; " oh, tell it 
quickly!" 

Her heaving bosom, her lovely eyes swimming with 
uncontrolled emotion, showed Olivier the hold Jehan 
yet possessed on her love. 

He shook his head, with sorrow in his face and 
burning anger in his heart. 

" I have no news that he is coming, my sweet friend. 
I have surmises, founded on my inquiries, it is true ; 
but you will not listen to surmises." 

She put her hand on his arm. " How do you mean } 
I will listen to anything that gives news of my husband." 

Logonna turned away with a sad smile. 

" Tell me," she w ent on ; " I will know what you 
are hiding from me." Then she took her hand away 
and spoke more gently : " You must pardon me, 
Monsieur Logonna, but suspense makes me vehement 
and uncourteous." 

She looked at him sweetly, he could scarcely 
restrain his love from showing itself. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 59 

" My friend," — he kept his eyes on the ground, — 
" you must pardon me if I give you pain. I have 
reason to think that Kergrist will not return ; he is by 
this time doubtless the husband of another wife." 

FranQoise grew colourless, then she flushed to the 
edge of the miatronly cap which hid her fair shining 
hair. 

" It is a false tale," she said sternly, " and you are 
a false friend to repeat it." 

" Pardon me," he hurried after her as she turned away, 
and he spoke eagerly ; " you are very hard on Jehan. 
What can he do 1 if he marries and stays in England, 
he will be rich ; but he has lost all ; if he comes back 
here, he is a beggar, and he beggars you also." 

She stopped and looked at him with a scared face. 

" A beggar ! — that cannot be — he told me he left 
his money in safe charge in Quimper." She fixed her 
eyes earnestly on Olivier. 

" That was his first intention. I had settled to 
take charge of the coin, and then at the last he changed 
his mind and took it with him." 

Fran^oise stood very still and was silent. " He 
could not be false to me," she said at last ; " he was 
always true and honest." 

" How patient, how trusting you are," Logonna 



6o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

sighed. " My heart aches to think how such constancy 
is rewarded ; but indeed, dear lady, you waste it — you 
are certainly a free woman — either Kergrist is dead, or 
he is false, he is dead to you either way ; and yet, 
because I only try to show you the truth, you say I am 
a false friend. I swore to Kergrist that I would watch 
over and protect you, and it is surely part of this duty 
to tell you the result of the inquiries I have caused to 
be made. I have no doubt that Kergrist is at this 
moment happy with his new rich wife." 

She turned on him passionately. 

" You have some purpose in saying this — why do 
you do it } Tell me that, too, and then I shall see 
whether I ought to hate you or believe you." 

Her eyes glowed : she panted with excitement, 
and again she put her hand on his arm, as if to force 
the truth from him. 

The pressure of her slender fingers maddened him. 

" I have no motive," he said, with passion that 
equalled her own ; " but I love you more than my life. 
Can you not feel, Fran(^oise," — he gathered her hands 
hungrily into his — " that you are more to me than life 
itself.?" 

She stood still, so shocked with surprise that she 
did not at once draw her hands from his burning clasp. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 6i 

" What is any love you have known to mine ? " he 
said ardently. " Can love that is fed by such love as 
yours conmpare with the fire of a heart that has been 
consuming itself all these years, its only nourishment 
regret ? Oh, Fran^oise ! give me at least a hope ; do 
not drive me to despair," 

She had drawn away her hands, and stood looking 
proudly at him. 

" Monsieur Logonna, what you have just said I will 
try to forget ; but you must not see me again." 

Then she went swiftly round the angle of the 
house, and left him alone among the fruit-trees. 



Chapter V. 

" HE WILL RETURN," SHE SAID. 

Jean Picard was dead — the funeral was over, and 
to the surprise of everyone, the notary of Quimper 
declared that the old merchant had left every Hard he 
possessed, not to his beloved godchild Frangoise Ker- 
grist, but to his esteemed and trusted friend Olivier 
Logonna ; who was also appointed guardian to the two 
Kergrist children, in place of the dead man. 

This arrangement had necessitated more than one 



62 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

meeting between the sorrowful Fran^oise and Logonna ; 
but though he looked deeply penitent, she treated him 
with a lofty contempt, and only spoke to him when 
absolutely required to do so. 

She was almost heartbroken to-dav. The house 
and all that it contained was the property of Logonna. 
He had sent her a message through the village priest 
of Locmaria, the priest who had married her and 
Jehan, to ask her to consider herself as much mistress 
of the house as she had been in her godfather's lifetime, 
but she had refused. She saw that Father Felix 
thought highly of Olivier, and she did not like to accuse 
him, but she would not accept his offer. 

" You will find it hard to live, my daughter ;" 
Father Felix shook his head with deprecation. " Both 
rent and provisions are dearer since the war began, and 
you will find it hard to live in Quimper on what 
remains to you." 

" It will not be for long, Father ; Jehan must soon 
come back now." 

Father Felix shook his head ; Olivier had per- 
suaded him that Jehan was dead, and more than once 
the priest had advised FranQoise to consider herself 
a widow ; but she remained obstinate. 

" Farewell, my child," he said ; " I hope you will 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. ^^ 

change your mind and stay here. I shall come again 
to-morrow." 

He went out of the long low room, along a short 
clay-floored passage, but it seemed to her that he stopped 
halfway. She heard a cry, and then back came the 
sound of shuffling feet, and the priest's white scared face 
looked in on her again. 

" FranQoise," he spoke hoarsely, " my good child, pre- 
pare yourself: you are right — or it is his spirit." 

" It is Jehan !" but she could not move : she stood 
with clasped hands and straining eyes awaiting her 
husband. 

He came in. He was so grey, so wan and weary- 
looking — such a beggar in appearance, that he was 
scarcely to be recognised ; but Franc^oise took no note 
of this. She sprang forward and clasped him in her 
arms ; then she laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed 
out her joy and sorrow. 

Father Felix stole quietly away to fetch the children 
He was glad that FranQoise's sorrow was over, but still 
if she had been really a widow she might have married 
the rich man Olivier Logonna, and Olivier had pro- 
mised a new shrine to the church of Locmaria. Father 
FeHx was vexed with himself that he was not more 
entirely satisfied. 



64 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

When he came back with the two children he was 
greatly surprised at the change in Jehan's manner. His 
face was red and angry, his eyes sparkled, and he was 
standing in front of Francoise, questioning her. 

The little boys hung back shyly ; they did not re- 
cognise their father in this soiled, ragged man. 

Jehan threw himself on a chair, and pointed at them 
angrily. 

" They, too, take me for a beggar," he said. " Well, 
Father Felix, are you also in this precious conspiracy, 
to defraud me of what is really mine V 

FranQoise did not speak. She raised first one child 
and then another, and when she had placed them in their 
father's arms, she hurried to seek food for the wanderer. 
Meantime the children's kisses softened Jehan. 

He turned more courteously to Father Felix who 
had begun to question him, and told him how he had 
been seized by a Danish pirate and made to work on 
board his captor's ship till he at last contrived to escape ; 
how he had been plundered of all he had, and thus had 
been forced to make a long journey on foot, and to beg 
his way from Bordeaux, near which place he had landed ; 
and now how his wife had greeted him with the news 
of Jean Picard's will, and also that Logonna had told 
her that her husband was a beggar. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 65 

"And are you not one, then, my son?" Father 
Felix brightened with a sudden hope. He had been in 
terrible anxiety for the future he saw for FranQoise with 
this ruined husband. 

" No, I swear by St. Corentin. No — I gave all my 
money, a very large sum, to Logonna, and he swore to 
watch over it as though it were his own, and to keep 
the matter a secret." 

The priest gave a deep sigh of relief 

" And he has been secret, my son ; even to me he 
has not said one word of the deposit entrusted to him." 

" But I tell you, father, he has denied its existence. 
He has told my wife that I changed my plans and gave 
him nothing." 

Father Felix smiled. 

" Do you think, my son, he would tell a woman 
that which he concealed from me } It was but a pious 
deception to keep your secret from all. Olivier is a 
good man, and he has watched over your wife and 
children like a brother." 

Jehan shrugged his shoulders. 

"I loved Olivier dearly," he said ; "but I did not 
think he would have juggled my wife out of her inherit- 
ance ; he " 

The priest raised his hand. 



66 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Forbear, my son. That was not his fault ; the 
old man was childish and feeble ; he grew so to depend 
on Logonna that he could not bear him out of his sight : 
he was besotted over him." 

Jehan had grown calm and like himself, and when 
FranQoise came into the room he folded her tenderly in 
his arms. 

" My child," he said, " your godfather's will must be 
seen to. I will eat a crust of bread and drink a glass 
of wine — no more," he waved away the salver of good 
things which Gwen carried behind her mistress ; " and 
then, father, by your leave we will all go to Quimper 
and find out the truth for ourselves." 



Chapter VI. 

THE ORDEAL. 

The trio took some time to reach Quimper. Fran^oise 
rode behind her husband on the old grey horse that 
had often carried her and her godfather, and Father 
Felix walked beside them. Before they reached the 
city gates the news had spread of Jehan's return. 

The Bishop of Quimper sat alone in the Palace 
Library. At that time he and the Chapter of the Cathe- 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 67 

dral regulated the affairs of the city of Quimper, and, 
like a good captain, since war had broken out he had 
remained at the helm of public affairs. 

A knock ; the curtain which masked the door was 
drawn aside, and a servant asked an audience for Mon- 
sieur Olivier Logonna. 

The bishop bowed, and then summoned a welcoming 
smile. He had no reason to dislike Logonna ; Olivier 
was not liberal, but the priest of Locmaria asserted that 
he paid his dues, and led a good life — and yet the bishop 
had always shrunk from the dark-browed subtly smiling 
man. 

" Good day, my son," he said, as Olivier bent low 
to kiss his hand ; "what can I do for you ?" 

Olivier looked very sad. 

" My lord, I am cast down with trouble. My fellow- 
townsman and friend Jehan Kergrist, whom we all 
thought dead, has returned — though, indeed, from what 
I hear, it is like enough that it is not he, but some im- 
postor who has learned his story, and is passing himself 
off on the poor wife as her husband ; if it be the true 
Jehan, then, alas, he is distraught and possessed." 

The words jarred on the bishop ; he looked up 
sharply at Olivier. 

"On what do you found this charge.?" 



68 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

But there was another rapping at the door, and be- 
fore the bishop had given leave the servant came in 
hurriedly, 

" Pardon, my lord — but there is good news ; Jehan 
Kergrist is not dead after all ; he is waiting without." 

The man had known Jehan all his life, and his eyes 
were bright with pleasure. 

" He may come in ;" the bishop turned his head 
away from Olivier, who tried to interpose. 

Jehan came in, followed by the priest and Fran9oise ; 
they all knelt and kissed the prelate's hand, but the 
bishop was shocked by the change he saw in Jehan. 

Logonna came forward and greeted him. 

" Welcome home, friend," he said ; " why, we had all 
given you up ;" he looked into Jehan's eyes, and Ker- 
grist's doubts melted into renewed trust in his friend. 

" I came to Quimper to find you, Olivier ; to ask 
you to restore the precious deposit I confided to you. 
I have lost all besides," he said frankly ; " that is to say, 
while this war lasts and trade is at an end with foreign 
countries." 

Logonna looked at the bishop, and touched his fore- 
head. 

" My good Jehan, you mistake," he said gently. 
" Do you not remember what passed between us } you 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 69 

gave me this precious charge, but at the last you changed 
your mind and I restored it to you — surely you remem- 
ber that ?" 

Jehan looked at him keenly, but Olivier met his 
eyes with a look of gentle pity in his dark narrow gaze. 

" You are distraught, Olivier Logonna, or you are 
the blackest of liars. Recollect yourself; it was you 
who first urged this journey on me, and then you bade 
me secretly sell all that I had, and give you the money 
to take care of ; and I gave it." 

The bishop looked earnestly from one face to the 
other. 

" You are both men of good repute," he said, " and 
yet one of you must be a great sinner. Jehan, are yo-u 
sure of what you say V 

Spite of his secret shrinking from Logonna, the 
man's calm gentleness seemed to attest his innocence ; 
the angry face and impetuous gestures of miserable- 
looking, beggarly Jehan went against him in the bishop's 
mind. 

" Oh, my lord, do not you doubt me," he said im- 
ploringly ; " I have no proof but my word, but I have 
never broken that." 

"Did you take no receipt, then, for this money.-*" 
The bivShop's manner had become colder towards Jehan. 



yo PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" No ; I would have as soon thought of asking a 
receipt from you, my lord." 

The bishop sat musing; at last he looked sadly at 
Jehan. 

'* I must summon the Chapter, .and you shall know 
the result of their conference ; but I must warn you, 
Jehan, that I fear it cannot be favourable to you. Till 
you went away, your good repute was equal to Monsieur 
Logonna's ; but you have been away for more than 
a year, and we do not know of your doings in the in- 
terval ; this will, I fear, go against you." 

Fran9oise had stood clasping her hands on her 
bosom, but now she stepped forward and fell on her 
knees. 

" My lord, we do not know what Jehan has been 
doing all this while, but a straight tree does not at once 
grow crooked ; until he went, his life had been spotless. 
Ah, my lord, no one knew how good he was but I." 
She paused to get courage. 

" Peace, my poor child," said the bishop ; " if 
Logonna had a wife, she would say as much for him as 
you do for Jehan. Now I must send you all away that 
I may consider this matter." 

FranQoise started up. " She could not say so, for 
he is not a good man," she cried with passion in her 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 71 

voice. " Ah, my lord, through this year you and others 
have seen but the outside of that false man ; he affirmed 
to me that my husband was beggared and had left me 
for a new wife, and he besought me to love him — him, 
Olivier Logonna ; traitor, you know this is truth !" 

She almost screamed out the last words, and pointed 
at Olivier, who had flushed deeply while she spoke. 

The bishop looked very stern. " I cannot enter in- 
to a fresh matter till the first is settled ; but if this is 
true, Logonna, it will deeply injure your cause." 

Olivier had recovered himself. " I forgive her, my 
lord," he said quietly ; " no one can blame a v/ife's ex- 
pedient to save her husband's credit." 

The bishop seemed as if he did not hear ; he went 
out with a troubled look, but he bade Father Felix 
keep Jehan and his wife safely in a room by themselves 
till they were summoned to the Chapter-house. Log- 
onna, he said, could return to his own house and hold 
himself in readiness. 

The trial is over. Logonna and Jehan stand in 
the midst of the Chapter-house with the circle of grave 
faces bent on them. Most of the reverend judges side 
with Logonna, a few with Jehan, but these last are 



72 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



silenced, when all at once Logonna stands up and prays 
to be heard. 

" Holy Fathers," he says reverently, " I am ready 
to swear by the Blessed Crucifix on the high altar 
that I restored to Jehan the money he accuses me of; 
will the proof content you?" 

There is universal assent, and the bishop decrees 
that the oath shall at once be taken. 

The procession forms, and slowly enters the cathe- 
dral from the long vaulted passage that connects the 
Chapter-house with it. The church is full of the excited 
townsmen and women of Quimper. Fran^oise walks 
as close as she can to her husband. 

And now they stand before the high altar ; Logonna 
and Kergrist are side by side, and after some moments 
of solemn prayer, the bishop mounts the steps and 
stretches out his hands tow^ards the crucifix ; presently 
he beckons Logonna forward. 

Olivier turns to his neighbour : " Hold this for me," 
he whispers, and he hands Jehan the stick he has been 
walking with ; then he too mounts the steps of the 
altar. 

" Swear," the bishop says, and there is a breathless 
hush. The population of Quimper have thronged into 



]FROM NORM AND V A ND BR ITT A N Y. 73 

the cathedral, but there is no sound ; in the deep still- 
ness Fran^oise hears the throbbing of her heart. 

" I swear," Olivier says — how feeble his voice sounds! 
— " that I restored to my friend and neighbour Jehan 
Kergrist the money which he says I received from him. 
I swear it on this holy symbol." 

He stretches out his hand and touches the crucifix. 
Ah, what is that ! the feet of the holy image loosen 
from the cross — a drop of blood falls — another, and 
then another. 

Jehan's horror overmasters him, he lets fall the stick 
and reels against Father Felix who stands near him 
with Francoise. There is a chink of metal, and lo ! 
the staff has broken, and from it has poured the stolen 
treasure, the precious deposit of Jehan Kergrist. 

There is a pause, a deep hush, and then a groan 
rises from the assembled people ; the bishop waves his 
hand to motion Logonna from the altar which he has 
profaned. 

But he stands immovable, and they seize him and 
drag him away ; he bursts into a shriek — he does not 
resist, but laughs and mocks at them with the gestures 
of an idiot. The awful judgment has taken away his 
reason. 



74 



t 
PICTURES AND LEGENDS i 



{ 1 



In one of the side chapels of the fair cathedral of 
St. Corentin there is over the altar the representation 
of this legend and of the crime of Logonna of Quimper. 




MARKET-WOMEN, QUIMPER. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 75 



CHAPTER IV. 

QUIMPERLfi — LE FAOUET— THE STORY OF "THE MILLER 
AND HIS LORD." 

Our next halting-place was at Quimperle, perhaps the 
most exquisitely placed town in Brittany, at the junc- 
tion of two rivers, the Elle and the Isole, hence its 
name Kemper - Elle, contracted into Quimperle, for 
kemper signifies confluent. Below the charming little 
town the united rivers are called Laita, and on this is 
the ferry the scene of Barba Keroes's story. But the 
lovely river Elle winds its way through hills and wild 
rocky glens till it reaches Le Faouet, tempting the 
fisherman throughout its course with shady trout-pools, 
in which the fish seem inexhaustible, for even salmon are 
caught in the Elle. Beyond Le Faouet it winds round 
the base of the lofty rock, on the side of which perches 
the marvellous church of Ste. Barbe, and it was on our 
return from seeing this wonder — for it seemed to us one 
of the most curious attestations of a legend we ever 
had met with — that we heard the story of " The 
Miller and his Lord." 



76 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



We had breakfasted at the inn of Le Faouet on our 
way to Ste. Barbe, and had been so content with the 
fare that we settled to dine there on our return instead 
of going on at once to Ouimperle ; but when we proposed 
to order our dinner, the hostess — a pleasant-looking 
dark-eyed Bretonne — demurred : " There is table d'hote 
at five o'clock," she said, " and there will be plenty to eat." 




MARKET-HOUSE, LE FAOUET. 



When we got back, very tired and hungry, from 
Ste. Barbe, our company consisted of the host and two 
dirty-looking townsmen of Le Faouet, and the dinner 
was so very untempting that if we had not been afraid 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 77 

of the long drive in the dark to Quimperle we should 
have ordered something else. 

When we had finished, our driver could not be 
found, though we had sent word he was to get the 
carriage ready. We strolled out into the market-place 
and bought some pears and Breton buttons, and greatly 
admired the gold and silver ribbons which were for sale 
in company with some charming silk and velvet skull- 
caps for babies, embroidered with spangles of the most 
vivid colours. 

This market-place of Le Faouet is very picturesque, 
a sort of double avenue of lofty trees, with a great 
market-house at one end. 

Beyond the market-place, near the desolate-looking 
church, we saw an acquaintance we had made at Quimper, 
an old white-haired beggar, blind of one eye, and with 
a lame arm. As we came up to him he held his hat 
out without recognising us. But the first word spoken 
was enough. 

" Ah," he said, " you are the gentlemen and lady 
who like to hear stories ; come and listen now to this 
one of the miller who sold his wares in the market of 
Le Faouet." 



78 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Si ILepnD of lit ifaouen 

THE MILLER AND HIS LORD. 

A GOOD many years ago there lived at Meslay — which 
village is, as you know, at some little distance from 
Le Faouet — a very poor miller. So poor was he that 
Michaelmas had come and gone four times without his 
paying the rent of his mill to the Baron his Lord. 

The Baron went out for a day's shooting, and finding 
no sport turned to come home in a very bad temper. 

What should he meet with on the way but the 
miller's cow, so he fired at her and shot her dead. 

The miller's wife was not far off, and saw what had 
happened ; she ran home as fast as she could to her 
husband. 

" Alas ! alas !" she cried, " we are ruined. The Lord 
Baron has killed our cow." 

The miller said nothing, but he thought a good 
deal, and he resolved to take vengeance when the time 
came. 

He skinned his cow that night, and as he lived some 
miles from Le Faouet, and next day was market-day 
there, he started off about midnight with his cow-skin 
over his shoulder. 



FROM NORMA ND Y AND BRITTANY. 79 

He soon reached a thick wood, and he remembered 
that it was said to be the resort of a band of robbers. 
Such a panic seized him that he climbed up a tree and 
waited for daylight. He had not been long in hiding 
when he heard a noise, and soon the band of robbers 
stopped under the very tree he was in to divide their 
plunder. 

By the light of a lantern they had with them, the 
miller saw a store of treasures spread on the ground, 
and there was a quarrelling and noise over it, the like of 
which he had never heard. 

" Parbleu," he said to himself, " if I could only get 
hold of that money I should be a rich man," and suddenly 
he drops the cow-skin down among the quarrellers. 

At sight of the horned head and black hide — for it 
was a black cow remember — the robbers thought Satan 
had come for their souls. Off they scamper as fast as 
they can, leaving their treasure on the ground. 

" Well done you," says the miller, " that was a 
happy thought." 

Down he scrambles out of the tree, gathers up the 
money, stows it away in his cow-skin, and runs all the 
way home. 

The miller and his wife went on counting the 
money till daybreak, and then they gave over. It was 
quite beyond their arithmetic. 



8o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

So next morning the miller bade his wife go and 
borrow a bushel measure from the Baron. 

She went up to the castle and gave her husband's 
message. 

"What can you want with a bushel measure.?" said 
the Baron scornfully. 

" My Lord Baron, we want to measure money with 
it." 

" Money — did you say money } Do you dare to 
mock me, woman V^ 

" I mock you ! — No, no, my Lord Baron, I am 
telling you the truth. Come and see for yourself." 

So the Baron went home with the miller's wife, 
not knowing what to think. 

When he saw the table all covered with crown 
pieces, he was beside himself with surprise. 

" Where did you get that money from .?" he asked, 
eagerly. 

" I got it by selling my cow-skin, my Lord Baron, 
which I sold at the market Le Faouet, yesterday." 

" Your cow-skin } Cow-skins are fetching a good 
price then." 

" I should think so, my Lord, and you did me a 
great service when you killed my cow." 

The Baron stared ; he said nothing, no not so 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 8i 

much as fare you well, he ran off to his castle at full 
speed, and gave orders to kill and skin every cow he 
had. Next market-day he sent off one of his men to 
Le Faouet with his cowskins, —there was a horse-load 
of them, — and told him to ask a bushel of silver for 
every skin. 

The man rode off with the skins, and after a whLe 
he reached the great marketplace of Le Faouet. 

" How do you sell your skins 1 " said a tanner, eyeing 
the load on the horse. 

" A bushel's weight of silver for each skin," an- 
swered the servant. 

" Come, come," said the tanner, " be serious can't 
you ; how much a skin V 

" What I tell you, a bushel's weight of silver." 

Another tanner came up and got the same answer, 
another, and then another, till at last all the tanners 
grew so angry, that they set upon the poor servant, 
beat him, rolled him on the ground, and took all his 
skins away from him. 

When he got back to the castle his Lord came 
out eagerly. 

" Where is the money .-^ " he said. 

" Ah, the money," the poor fellow scratched his 
head. " I know nothing about money, I only got 



82 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

blows and kicks at Le Faouet ; I am bruised from head 
to foot." 

" The miller has cheated me," cried the Baron in a 
rage, " but never mind, my turn will come." 

The miller cut up the dead cow and made a grand 
supper, and then he bade his wife go and invite the 
Lord Baron to come to it. 

So she went and delivered her husband's invitation. 

"How now.''" The Baron grew red with rage. 
" How dare you mock me again ; mocking me in my 
own house too." 

She wrung her hands. 

" Mon Dieu, my good Lord, how could I dare make 
fun of you } Neither I nor my husband would venture 
to think of such a thing." 

" Well," said the Baron, " I will come, if it is only to 
give your husband a bit of my mind. He thinks to 
outwit me perhaps." 

So the Baron came and supped at the mill. There 
was quite a feast : fruit, and bacon, and roast beef. 
There was cider, and wine, and brandy ; never had 
there been such a spread at the mill. 

Towards the end of the meal, when the liquor had 
been pretty freely drunk, and had warmed the hearts 
of the company, the miller said to his Lord — 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. %->> 

" All the world knows how knowing you are, my 
good Lord, and yet, with all your sharpness, I wager 
you are not able to do what I can do." 

"How so?" 

" I don't think you can raise the dead. Now I 
will kill my wife before your face, and then bring 
her to life again by playing the fiddle." 

" I bet you twenty crowns you won't do it," says the 
Baron eagerly. 

" And I bet twenty crowns that I will." 

" Let us see it done, let us see it done," cry all the 
rest. " The Lord Baron holds to his wager." 

The miller snatches a knife from the table, springs 
at his wife and makes a feint of cutting her throat, and 
she falls to all appearance dead on the ground, but the 
miller has really only cut a bladder full of blood pur- 
posely slung round her neck. 

The Baron, too far off to detect the trick, was horrified 
when he saw the blood spout forth. 

But the miller takes up his fiddle, settles it under 
his chin, and begins to play a lively air, and at the sound 
of the first notes his wife jumps up, and dances away 
as if nothing had ever aiicd her, while the Baron stands 
gaping at her in staring wonder. 

" Give me that fiddle, miller," — he stretches out his 



84 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

hand for it, " and I will let you off two years' rent for 
the mill." 

" Agreed," says the miller, the bargain is struck, and 
the Baron hurries home in the greatest delight with the 
fiddle under his arm. 

Going along he says to himself, " This is a clever 
thing I have learnt from that dolt of a miller. My 
wife is getting old, and by this means I can make her 
young and able to dance again." 

He soon reaches home, and finds his wife sound 
asleep in bed. 

" So much the better," thinks the Baron, " she will 
be none the wiser, good woman." 

So he fetches a long and sharp knife from the 
kitchen, and cuts his wife's throat, and then he plays 
the fiddle, but he played and played till his wrists ached ; 
the poor woman never even stirred, she was as dead as 
a sheep. 

" What a fool that miller is," the Baron thought ; 
" he bids me cut my wife's throat, and now, when I 
play the fiddle just as he did, she does not come to life 
one bit. He must have left out something. I must 
go at once and ask him what else I must do." 

So off he ran to the mill ; when he got there, he 
saw the miller in his shirt sleeves, holding a whip, with 
which he was furiously whipping a huge caldron which 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 85 

stood out in the midst of the mill-yard full of boiling 
water. The caldron had just been taken off the fire, 
but you see the Baron knew nothing of this. 

" Holy Peter, miller ; " he cried, " what are you about ? " 

The Baron was so surprised at this sight that he 
stood open-mouthed gazing at the miller. He forgot 
all about his dead wife. 

" I am making the soup boil, my Lord. See how 
fast it boils." 

The Baron goes close up to the caldron and looks 
at it with much attention. 

" Yes, yes, I see," he says ; " and do you mean to tell 
me that your whip can make soup boil in this fashion V 

"To be sure it can, my Lord. I do it to save wood ; 
bless your lordly heart, wood is much too dear and 
costly for the like of us." 

" So it is ; you speak truly, varlet ;" then, stretching 
out his hand, " give me that whip, miller, and I will for- 
give you the other two years." 

" A bargain, my lord Baron ; I give it to you." 

So the Baron takes the whip from the miller and 
hastens back to his castle. 

On his way home he says to himself, "And nov/ I 
will cut down all my woods ; their sale will bring me in 
a heap of money." 



S6 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

And when he reached home he sold every tree on 
his land. 

One Saturday evening the Baron's cook came to 
him with a sorely troubled face. 

" My Lord," she said, " how am I to cook the dinner 
to-morrow ? I have now neither wood nor faggots to 
burn, they are all spent." 

" All right," her master answers ; " do not you trouble 
yourself, cook, I know how to manage without wood or 
faggots either." 

Next day being Sunday, the Baron bids his house- 
hold attend high mass. 

" Go all of you," says he, '' men and women too. 
Grand Jean only will stay at home with me." 

Now Grand Jean was very tall, and he was the 
Baron's chief attendant. 

" And the dinner, my Lord," says the anxious cook ; 
"who will get that ready.-*" 

" Do not you trouble yourself, but take yourself off 
to church as I bid you." 

So off they all start for the village church. 

As soon as they are all out of sight the Baron says 
to Grand Jean, 

" Bring the great caldron, and set it in the middle 
of the yard, and now fill it with water." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 87 

Then the Baron puts into the caldron fat and salt- 
meat, cabbages and turnips, salt and pepper, — every- 
thing, in short, requisite to make good soup. Next he 
takes off his coat and waistcoat, and begins to whip 
the water in the caldron with the miller's whip — but it 
is in vain — he whips and whips, and the water re- 
mains as cold as at first. 

" My Lord, my Lord," cries the astonished Grand 
Jean, " what are you doing there ?" 

" Hold your tongue, fool, and you will see." 

And Grand Jean stands looking, and the Baron 
begins to whip again with all his might. Every now 
and then he puts a finger into the caldron, but the 
water gets no warmer, and he begins to whip again. 

At last he stops quite tired out. " Grand Jean," 
he cries furiously, " I begin to fear the miller has 
hoaxed me." 

" He has certainly hoaxed you, my Lord," says 
Grand Jean, " there can be no doubt about it." 

" Never mind, he shall die, and then there'll be an 
end to his hoaxes." 

" Give him a sound taste of your whip instead, my 
Lord. Death is a heavy punishment." 

" No, no ! I tell you, nothing but death will cure 
him. Hoaxing me indeed — his lord and master ! 



88 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



Come along quick to the mill — bring a sack with you 
— hurry along — we will tie the miller in the sack and 
throw him in the great pond and let him drown." 

Grand Jean shrugged his shoulders, then he threw 
a sack across them, and followed his master to the 
miller. 

They seized the poor miller at unawares, and tied 
him up in the sack, and then they hoisted it across 
the mill-horse, for the great pond was some distance off. 
As they went along, they saw coming along the 
road behind them a merchant with three horses laden 
with bales of goods. The great fair of Le Faouet was 
to take place next day, and he was on his way to it. 
The Baron was greatly frightened ; he wanted to drown 
the miller, but he did not want to be found out. 

" Come along, Grand Jean," he cries ; "let us hide 
behind the hedge bank out of sight till the merchant 
has passed by." 

And in a twinkle he and Grand Jean have 
scrambled up the high bank over the hedge, and down 
out of sight and hearing into the field beyond, leaving 
the sack with the miller in it leaning against the bank 
beside the road ; for the great pond is so near that 
they have lifted the sack down from the mill-horse. 

When the miller hears the trot trot of the mer- 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 89 

chant's horses, he cries out, " No, I will not take her — 
I will not take her." 

At this the astonished merchant goes up to the sack, 

" Hulloa," he exclaims, " what does this mean ? 
who are you in the sack ?" But the miller cries out the 
more, " I will not have her — no, I will not have her." 

"You will not have whom V asks the merchant. 

" The only daughter of a rich Baron, he is very 
rich ; and he has only this child, and he is carrying me 
off so as to force me to marry her." 

"And is she really very rich V the merchant asks 
greedily. 

" Rich ! I believe you, richer than any one in these 
parts." 

" Then I will willingly marry her," says the mer- 
chant, eagerly. 

" Very well, nothing is easier, you have only to 
take my place in the sack, and she is yours ; only be 
quick about it. The Baron will be back directly." 

The merchant unties the sack, lets out the miller, 
and takes his place, and the miller ties him up securely, 
and then smacking the merchant's whip he drives the 
baggage horses on to Le Faouet. 

He is scarcely out of sight when the Baron and 
Grand Jean come back to the sack. 



90 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" I will have her — I will marry her," cries the 
merchant. 

"You will marry whom ?" asks the Baron. 

" Your daughter, my lord." 

Now the Baron had no daughter. 

" Ah, son of Satan," he cries ; " go and seek her then 
at the bottom of the great pond." 

And with that they took up the sack and flung it 
into the pond ; and the merchant has not since been 
heard of 

Next morning the Baron and his attendant, Grand 
Jean, go off to the fair at Le Faouet. 

They visit one gay shop after another ; but all at 
once they stand still — they are struck with amazement 
— for there stands the miller of Meslay behind a counter 
spread with shining jewellery. 

" How now, miller," says the Baron ; " is it really 
you.?" 

" Yes, certainly, my Lord. You will buy some 
trinkets of me, will you not V 

" But how is it you are not in the pond ?" 

" Aha, you see, my Lord, I was not comfortable 
there ; and yet I return you many thanks for my 
ducking, for it is in the pond that I found all the 
beautiful things you see here." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 91 

" You do not say so ?" 

" Yes, yes, I do. I only regret one thing, and that 
is, that you did not throw me a little farther in ; if you 
had done so I should have fallen among the golden 
trinkets, these you see are only silver gilt." 

"Is that so?" 

" As true as I stand here, my Lord." 

" Then the golden trinkets are there still." 

" Yes, at least I fancy so, but you must hasten if 
you really want to find them." 

" Saint Fiacre ! this is indeed news," and off went 
the Baron as fast as he could, and off went Grand Jean 
behind him. They rode home, and then they ran to 
the pond. Grand Jean got there first ; he jumped in, 
and as he was very tall he raised his hand high out 
of the water to ask for help, for the poor fellow could 
not swim. 

" See there," says the Baron, " he points to tell me 
to jump farther ; what a good fellow, he doubtless sees 
the gold farther in." 

And he runs back, takes a spring, and jumps as far 
as he can into the water. 

And since then he has never been heard of. 

And this is the story of the miller of Meslay. 




CHATEAU OF HENAN. 



CHAPTER V. 



PONT-AVEN— THE LEGEND OF THE ROCKING-STONE OF 

TREGUNC. 

From Quimperle we drove over to Pont-Aven, a quaint 
little town picturesquely situated on the river Aven. 
The Bretons often call Pont-Aven " the town of millers," 
there are so many mills on the rock-strewn little river. 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS. 93 

Pont-Aven is a favourite resort of artists, French, 
English, and American, who lodge chiefly at the Hotel 
des Voyageurs, where capital accommodation is to be 
found. They seem to be " a happy band of brothers." 
At this hotel lived for a long time the clever American 
artist Robert Wylie. He received his art education in 
France, and his work is not much known in England, but 
his vivid transcripts of Breton life are well known in 
France and, no doubt, in his native country. To the 
great loss of art (he was at his prime of work) he died 
about a year ago very suddenly. His kindness to the 
young artists who visited Pont-Aven was very great. 

The river Aven runs through a picturesque valley 
to the sea. At the mouth of this river stands the 
Chateau of Henan, a fine castle built in the second half of 
the fifteenth century. Rising above the trees that sur- 
round it, it is a picturesque feature in the landscape. 

From Pont-Aven we went on to Concarneau, famous 
for its sardine fishing. On the way we stopped near 
the village of Tregunc to see the famous Rocking-Stone. 
It stands close to the high road, and is one of the wonders 
of South Brittany. The following wild legend is told 
about this huge stone, called " la pierre aux maris 
trompes/' 



94 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 




%\z Eoc6ino:=&tone of ^regunc^ 
Chapter I. 

ANNIK. 

" Mousse, Mousse ! Ah, but she's a cruel little beast ; 
and yet, to see her, smooth as velvet, and to hear her 
purr, one would say, what a gentle cat is Mousse ! Ah ! 
but she is a cat after all." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 95 



The cat sat still, her black velvet-like coat glistening 
in the sunshine. Evidently she did not understand 
reproof. At Annik's words she purred more complacently 
than ever, without even a look at her pretty young 
mistress. Her green eyes were fixed intently on two 
large blue -bottle flies hovering about the exquisitely 
rosy flowers of a great oleander that stood in its green 
box outside the cottage door. 

Annik shook her head at the cat, and then she 
crossed one leg over the other, pulled off her shoe and 
stocking, and began to examine her foot. It \vas a 
small well-shaped foot, and looked very pretty, just 
peeping from beneath her petticoat ; but, spite of the 
thickness of her leather shoe, the girl felt that a thorn 
had pierced it, and she gave a little cry of relief as she 
saw one end of the thorn still projecting from the skin. 
The wings of her snowy cap spread, as she bent forward, 
and showed glossy dark hair rolled closely away from 
her face ; her eyes too were dark, with long black lashes 
resting on cheeks almost as rosy as the oleander blossom 
under which she sat. 

Annik was as pretty a little Breton maid as could 
be seen in Finistere ; and her costume was deliciously 
quaint. Her greenish blue home-spun apron hid the 
front of her skirt of darker blue, and reached quite to 



96 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the bottom of it ; her charming winged white cap made 
exquisite Hght and shade on the sweet young face ; the 
bodice of her gown was black, as was also the inner 
body, which had long sleeves ; both were trimmed with 
black velvet, embroidered in lines of flame-coloured silk, 
and the square opening m front was filled with a fluted 
chemisette, ending in a frill of home-made lace round 
the slender throat ; below the chemisette her bodice 
was laced across with pale blue silk cord. 

Something in the girl's appearance seemed out of 
keeping with the small one-storied cottage, with its 
overhanging oaken beams, in front of which she sat, 
from one of which beams, over the doorway, hung a 
bunch of mistletoe, signifying that cider was to be had 
within. Beyond the cottage, the road went uphill, and 
soon the sunshine, instead of shedding down a full stream 
of light, like that in which the black cat sat purring, 
asserted itself only in flecks and chequers of irregular 
design. For overhead, stretching across the road from 
the high bank on either side, as if to exchange greetings, 
were huge spreading chestnut boughs with fans of 
exquisite green leaves. A little higher up, the bank 
ended on the same side as the cottage, and a group of 
chestnuts stood on a wide opening of still rising ground. 
Here the light was yet more brilliant ; the dull yellow 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 97 

of the ground between the tree-trunks seemed paved 
here and there with tesserae of gold, where corn had 
been threshed in front of the great stone farm-house 
that stood back among the trees. Opposite, on the 
right, was a tall grey calvary, and the road sloping 
downwards from this led to the church. 

Annik took out the thorn, and just as she began to 
draw her stocking over her pretty foot, a man appeared 
at the top of the road coming from beyond the farm- 
house. There had been no rain for several days, and 
his tread was not heard at that distance on the dusty 
ground. He came along with a lowering expression of 
discontent, swinging the arm, which held his heavy 
cudgel ; his large, black, low-crowned hat pulled over 
his eyes. All at once he saw Annik. He stopped, 
thrust his empty hand into his pocket, and gazed 
earnestly forward. His wide mouth, open with surprise, 
showed a range of gleaming wolf-like teeth. He re- 
pressed the exclamation on his tongue, lest he should 
disturb the picture below him, and stood still gazing. 

Annik had left off talking to the cat ; she sat 

leisurely putting on her shoe, crooning meanwhile a 

wailing cradle ditty, as if the little foot were a baby, 

and she were lulling it to sleep. 

The man's face meantime had changed strangely. 

H 



98 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

As he came in sight you would have said that love and 
joy could have found no power of expression in his 
features ; now, as he stood gazing, pleasure at least shone 
out of his eyes, mingled with delighted admiration. 

He had been too much absorbed to heed any sound, 
but footsteps had been for some minutes toiling up the 
stony road from the church, and now the tall bent figure 
of a priest, with his breviary under his arm, and a small 
bag in one hand, came behind the gazer. The priest, 
who was no other than the Cure of the village, looked 
intently when he saw a stranger, and then rapidly 
beyond him, to see what had fixed his attention. The 
Cure was very thin, with small, mild blue eyes, but he 
looked healthy, and the colour on his cheek deepened 
with vexation as he followed the strong dark gaze down- 
hill, and saw on whom it rested. He went on past the 
strange man, and then turned back and looked in his 
face — only to be seen by a direct front view, for the 
man's high shirt-collar hid the lower part of his features, 
and his long dark hair fell over his eyes and cheeks. 
The eyes were deep-set and unpleasant in expression. 
They scanned the priest searchingly ; then the man 
pulled off his hat, and gave an awkward smile. 

" Good morning, father ; you have forgotten Lao 
Coatfrec, it seems." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 99 

The priest started, and then, while he returned the 
greeting, looked intently at the hard determined face. 
It was handsome, perhaps, as regarded colour and 
features, but there was no beauty of expression : the 
lower nature reigned supreme. 

" Lao ! is it indeed Lao V and then the Cure stood 
silent. He looked disturbed and hesitating, as if he 
wished to speak, and yet was withheld by prudence. 

Meantime Lao's eyes had travelled back to Annik. 
He said abruptly, " Father, who is the young girl beside 
the cottage } I have been away so long that the young 
ones have grown out of remembrance." 

Again the Cure looked disturbed. " You are not 
likely to remember that young woman, Lao ; she is not 
a Kerion girl ; she comes from Auray. Her aunt 
married the widower Guerik — you remember him at the 
farm here V He looked back at the stone farm-house. 
" His second wife and her niece, Annik, came from 
Auray ; and when the wife died, a year ago, the niece 
remained with Guerik." 

Lao shrugged his shoulders, but his dark eyes 
gleamed with curiosity. 

" I hope she has enough to keep her," he said care- 
lessly. " Guerik, as I remember him, is not a man who 
would care to be burdened with a child who is not of 
his blood." 

tore. 



lOO PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

The priest was too simple to see Lao's drift. His 
cheeks flushed a little as he answered — 

" Annik lives with farmer Guerik because she is his 
niece by marriage, and because she is alone in the 
world. She has no blood relations, but she has a good 
sum put by for her, and the prettiest little cow in Guerik's 
stable is Annik's. One has only to look at her and see 
that she is no beggar : and she is good ; yes, she is very 
good." 

His voice sank to a faint murmur. As he ended, 
the good father suddenly remembered the admiration 
he had remarked in Lao's eyes. He felt he was saying 
too much, and he wished he had not praised Annik or 
said a word about her money. 

" And where have you been all these years V he 
said quickly. " We heard that you had gone to sea ; 
you must have been away eight years or more." 

" About that time, Monsieur. I went to try the 
fishing, and then I heard of my mother's death," — here 
Lao's eyes drooped under the priest's gaze, — " I went 
away to foreign parts then ; and to-day I have come 
back here to see my grandmother." 

The Cure crossed himself. 

" I am sorry to say your grandmother is not a good 
companion for old or young, Lao ; age does not mend 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. lOl 

Ursula. She despises all that you were taught to rever- 
ence when you were a boy." 

" That is a long time ago, Monsieur." Lao laughed. 
" I love the poor old woman ; she is all I have in the 
world to care for ; I am sure there is no harm in her ; 
but she is more clever than her neighbours, and so they 
are spiteful ; it is always so." 

The Cure looked stern as well as grave. 

" I judge no man or woman from report, Lao. I 
know that Ursule does not fear God ; and I warn you 
against her influence." 

Lao laughed, and then he hitched up the broad 
leather belt he wore, and stopped in his walk. 

" Good day to you, father. I must go and see my 
old gossip Guerik." And he turned towards the farm- 
house. 

The priest went on with trouble on his usually 
placid face. As he reached the bottom of the slope 
Annik looked round. 

She rose when she saw the Cure, and at her smiling 
greeting his face cleared. 

" Good-day, my child. I am going away, but only 
as far as Concarneau ; so you will know where to find 
me if I should be needed." 

"Going away!" Annik's eyes opened in wide 



102 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

wonder. She had not lived many years in Kerion ; but 
she could not remember the day when she had not seen 
Monsieur le Cure. 

" Is there any reason why I should stay at home, 
my child 1 If there is, tell me ;" and he smiled. 

" No ; oh, no ! forgive me." Annik blushed with 
confusion. " The change will be good for Monsieur, 
but — we shall be all glad to see him back." 

" And I glad to return, dear child." He put his 
hand on her head. " I have said I will stay till Satur- 
day morning, but I may return on Friday — who knows ? 
Go and see Jeanneton sometimes. Farewell." 

The girl knelt down in the dusty road to receive 
his fatherly blessing. The Cure gave it, and then he 
passed quickly on his way to Concarneau. 



Chapter 1 1. 

silvestik. 

" Well, good-day, old friend ; it was a good chance 
that brought you back to Kerion ; I will think it over. 
Leave all to me, and it shall go smoothly, I promise you." 
The speaker, Mathurin Guerik, came to the arched 
door of his old stone house, and nodded farewell to Lao. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



103 



Then he smiled, and rubbed his hard brown hands 
together in congratulation of his own manoeuvres. 
Guerik was short and broad, and his long red hair was 




not a becoming frame to his repulsive sullen face. His 

long half-shut grey eyes were twinkling with satisfaction. 

" Nothing could have happened better. The girl 

says ' No ' to every man I propose to her ; and, indeed, 



I04 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

there are but few to choose from in Kerion who have 
money. This one is rich ; I can see it even in his 
walk " — he stood watching Lao Coatfrec out of sight — 
" and there are no relations to make troublesome in- 
quiries about the interest on Annik's hoard. I know too 
much about Ursule ; she will not meddle, and I shall ask 
no questions about Lao. Yes ; Lao shall marry Annik. 
He wants some ready money, and he likes the girl ; and 
he will take her right away to the west. She will marry 
him fast enough ; how can she refuse a fine fellow like 
that .'' and I shall be rid of her, and of Monsieur le Cure's 
visits. I am tired of being watched over and talked to, 
as if I were a sick woman." 

He stuffed both hands into the pockets of his 
breeches, which were pear-shaped, and made of un- 
bleached coarse jean gathered into innumerable tiny 
plaits ; below them came black cloth leggings, trimmed 
with faded embroidery and buttoned with small metal 
buttons down to the ankle. 

"Annik!" he called, in his hoarse voice — "Annik, 
I have something to say." Guerik turned towards the 
house, but there was no answer. 

The road had been empty since I>ao departed, but 
now, here was Annik coming up from the church ; and 
down the road which Lao had taken came a tall 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 105 

young fellow, walking briskly, whistling as he came. 
Looking straight before him, a moment ago this bright- 
haired happy-faced youth had a fearless, honest face 
which won the beholder ; but as the young girl stepped 
into the road his fearless look faded into a timid, almost 
beseeching glance, his well-knit limbs moved less 
freely, and his head was less saucily erect ; and as Annik 
saw him, and nodded, and then moved across towards 
the farm-house, the young man reddened and stopped 
awkwardly in the middle of the road, as he said "good 
day." 

"You called me, uncle .''" said Annik. 

The farmer had turned, and saw the timid greeting 
exchanged. He answered gruffly, 

" Yes — yes. Jeff has need of help ; go, she waits." 

A little pout closed the girl's lips. She gave a linger- 
ing look over her shoulder, and then went slowly into 
the house. As she passed her uncle she said dryly — 

" Jeff did not need help when I left her. She is 
growing lazy." 

Then she held up her pretty head, and walked on 
with the air of a young queen. 

" I am tired of these airs," the farmer murmured ; 
" it is not pleasant that a young chit like Annik should 
be so independent — she shall be tamed. Ah, good day, 
Silvestik ; you have left work early to-day ; why so ?" 



io6 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



" Yes, I have left work early, Mathurin Guerik. 
My cousin, the miller of Nizon, is ill ; and he has sent 
to say that I am to go and help him, that I am to be 
as his son, and that when he dies, the mill, and all that 
he has, is to be mine." 

" Some folk count chickens through the egg-shell, 
Silvestik. Well, go your way, and prosper better at 
Nizon than you have prospered at Kerion. Lao Coatfrec, 
who went away in disgrace, and who you all said had 
gone to the bad, has come back to-day rich and pros- 
perous. Go and do likewise." 

Silvestik looked sharply at the farm^er. 

" Lao Coatfrec ! has he come back .'' Well, I fear 
his riches are not fairly got ; if, indeed, he is rich. He 
is a smuggler : every one knows it, and ugly things have 
happened to him and to his crew," 

Guerik's sullen face grew purple, and he growled a 
fierce oath between his teeth. 

" Lao is not a milksop, and so he is a mark for evil 
tongues. Take my advice, young man," he went on 
harshly, " keep your mouth shut, or you may find stones 
in your teeth. Lao is my friend." 

Silvestik looked troubled. He had plenty of in- 
telligence, but he was slow in piecing facts together ; 
and at this moment his head was so full of Annik, 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 107 

that he had no insight into the extent of Guerik's 
anger. 

" I did not know that," he said simply, " or I should 
have held my tongue ; for I would not willingly grieve 
you, Mathurin." He stopped and looked sheepish, then 
he forced out the words, " If all goes as I wish, some day 
I hope to call you my uncle." 

Guerik broke into a coarse, derisive laugh. 

" Some folks are bent on seeing through the egg- 
shell. Go your way, Silvestik. My niece Annik is not 
for a penniless lad with scarce a beard for the barber. 
Go, I tell you!" 

Guerik roared out the last words. The young 
man's eyes flashed, and he made a step forward towards 
the farmer. But Guerik did not notice either look or 
movement ; as he spoke he turned quickly into the 
arched doorway, and pushed the half-door violently, so 
as to prevent any following. 

Seeing this, Silvestik paused and unclenched his fists. 

" I am as foolish to be provoked by his bluster as 
he is to show it. He has no power over Annik. If I 
were richer I would speak to her to-day before I go to 
Nizon ; as it is, if I were more sure — but she never 
gives me a smile or a word that she does not give to 
another. If I thought I had a chance, then indeed " 



io3 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

He went slowly down the road, past the cottage in 
front of which Annik had been sitting. Just within, a 
withered old woman sate with her distaff under her arm, 
her black cat striving every now and then to touch the 
ball of yarn as it twirled beside her. 

" Good morning, Barba," he said ; " is your rheu- 
matism better ?" 

She shook her head. Her white cap fell so low 
on her wrinkled brown face that scarcely more than 
the lipless mouth was visible. 

" No, my lad ; it is so bad that if I had only legs 
I would go to Mother Ursule, and ask her to give me 
a charm for it." 

" A charm ! Better ask Monsieur le Cure to pray 
our Lady to heal you." 

The old woman looked up and blinked at him out 
of her almost shut blue eyes. " I have done that over 
and over again, — the pain goes, and then it comes 
back. Mother Ursule's cures are sure, but then it is 
so far to seek them. Ah ! what it is to be young !" 

" Look here, Barba ; to-day I go to Nizon, but 
to-morrow if I can I come back to Kerion to settle my 
affairs ; it will not be much out of my way to seek 
Ursule, and get you a charm against your pain." 

The old woman shook her head. 



FROM NORM AND V AND BRITTANY. 



IC9 



" She will not give it you. I must seek her myself 
if the charm is to work. I would not sit here suffering 
if another could do my errand, for Ursule never fails. 
She is powerful : she can change the wind ; she can 
soften the heart of the proudest maiden and make her 
say yes. See my bees ;" she pointed to a range of 
straw beehives by the side of the cottage. " Five years 
ago they would not swarm, but I got a charm from 
Ursule, and they have always swarmed since. Ah, 
she is a wonderful woman." 

Here Barba crossed herself, either for protection 
against the witch, or as an act of faith. 




no 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



Chapter III. 



SILVESTIK RESOLVES TO CONSULT THE WITCH. 

When Silvestik reached the mill of Nizon he found 
that his cousin's health had improved. 

" I am better ; I shall not die directly," the sick 
man said ; " but that makes no difference to you, 
Silvestik. I shall never walk again, my legs are use- 
less ; and you are as much master of the mill as if I 
lay in the churchyard ; but while I live I must keep 
the name, and I must have a corner of the old house 
to live in." 

Tears rolled down Silvestik's face. 

His cousin had always been good to him, but till 
lately two well-grown sons had barred any hope of 
succession to the mill. Lately, one of these had been 
lost at sea, and the other had died of fever — a double 
grief which had caused the paralysis from which the 
sick man could not rally. 

His young cousin's sympathy cheered the miller, 
and he agreed to spare Silvestik for a few days, so 
that he might arrange his affairs at Kerion before he 
came to settle down for life at Nizon. 

That night, when the youth had stowed away his 



FROM NORM AND Y AND BRITTANY. 1 1 1 

long legs into one of the cupboard-like bedsteads in 
the chief room of the mill, he could not sleep. He 
lay thinking of all that had taken place that day — of 
Annik, of the farmer's repulse, of the old witch Ursule. 

The short-drawn wheezing breath told that the , 
sick man was at last asleep, and for some time past, 
the grunts and snores of the two servants — the miller's 
man and his maid — had been sounding through the 
great dark room. All at once it seemed to Silvestik 
that he heard the clack of the mill and the plash, plash 
of falling water, and these sounds joined in a dull 
chant — "Go to Ursule — Ursule — Ursule," till the 
words came so close they deafened him — they hurt 
his ears, and starting awake, he found Jean Marie, his 
cousin's man, bellowing to him that it was time to rise. 

The broad daylight, and the interest he felt in 
learning his new business, kept Silvestik from thinking 
of other things, and he laughed and joked all through 
the morning with the miller's man. When he came 
in at last from work into the room where his cousin 
lay, the sick man smiled at him feebly. 

" The sight of you does me more good than the 
doctor," he said. " Who knows, when you are here 
every day, and I see your fresh face and hear you 
laugh, and feel, too, that good work is doing — who 



112 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

knows but I may mend and strengthen too ; but that 
will make no change to you, my lad ; the mill is yours, 
and the papers will be ready for you to sign when you 
come back." 

He kept on putting off the youth's departure till 
the light began to fade ; then, as Silvestik bent over 
the tent bed on which he lay, he laughed, " Bring a 
wife in thy pocket, young one ; there is enough and 
to spare for you both, and she will make the place as 
bright for you as you have made it for me. Do what 
I say, Silvestik." 

" No such luck, cousin." Silvestik turned away 
hurriedly to hide his red face, and went out through 
the low doorway. 

It is a wild piece of up-and-down road between 
Nizon and Kerion to travel on a dark night ; more- 
over, it is bordered on one side by a vast stretch of 
waste land. On this, sometimes standing up in naked 
ruggedness, sometimes fallen and overgrown with 
brown gorse and tufts of heather, are huge mis-shapen 
blocks of granite. 

A hoarse wind had risen after sunset, and had 
broken up the dull leaden expanse, so gloomy in the 
daylight, into yet darker but less solid masses, black 
filmy clouds that drove hurriedly across the sky, as if 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. m 

they actually feared the hoarse voice of the ever-rising 
wind. It was not late, but darkness had come with a 
suddenness unknown in England. All at once the 
howling of the wind lulled, and then a shrieking wail 
burst over the waste. 

Silvestik stood still and crossed himself, and then 
looked fearfully about. Just in front of him an opening 
came in the road, and a narrow way went steeply down 
between two high banks. All around him were the 
pagan stones, some of which, so tradition said, sheltered 
dwarfs and korrigans, while some of the taller ones had 
been known to v/alk and to crush unwary travellers who 
met them on their way. 

" It was only the wind," he thought, as he stood at 
the opening of the steep narrow path. 

All at once he remembered that it was down such 
a steep uncanny bit of road as this, only nearer home, 
that Ursule lived ; and the words of old rheumatic Barba, 
and his dream of last night, came back — came back so 
vividly, that it seemed as if a voice from among those 
dark weird stones were whispering in his ear, " Go to 
Ursule." Should he go .? Could she teach him how 
to win Annik 1 

He went musing along the high road, difficult to keep 
to now that waste land spread along each side of the 



114 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

way. Once he went plune^ing into the midst of this waste 
among the furze and stones ; and then a cross, placed 
at the angle of a by-road, caught his eye, and recalled 
him from his wandering. He took off his hat rever- 
ently, and the misty dreams that had been confusing 
him dispersed for a while. 

" Ursule is a witch," he said. " No, I will not seek 
her, I will speak for myself." But as he drew nearer 
and nearer to Kerion, his courage failed ; Annik had 
never said or done anything in the way of personal en- 
couragement. He could not approach her in regular 
fashion, through the crooked tailor of the village — whose 
business lay more in the making of marriages than in 
the making of clothes — for this tailor was a known 
friend of Guerik's, and would certainly speak to the 
uncle before speaking to the niece, and thus Silvestik's 
suit would remain untold. 

" If I had only a mother !" the poor fellow sighed. 
He had been an orphan ever since he could remember ; 
owing all his teaching to Father Pierre ; and helped on 
first by one cousin, then by another, but knowing no 
home except the houses of the farmers with whom he 
had taken service 

Here was Kerion at last. He passed the low 
cottage where Annik had talked to the cat, and where 



FROM NORM AND Y AND BRITTANY. 1 1 5 



old Barba had given her counsel, and speeding swiftly 
up the hill with long, strong strides, he came in sight 
of the farm-house, a dull red glow through the window 
beside the door making it visible at some distance. 
Silvestik stood still and gazed as a lover does gaze on 
the nest that holds his beloved. Then his eyes went to 
the upper story. 

" Annik is still below," he thought ; " there is no light 
up-stairs." 

Between him and the house, obscuring the red light 
in the window, came two dark figures, and passed in 
under the low stone arch of the doorway. The door 
was shut-to, and in a minute the dull red brightened, 
and the window was ablaze with light. A curse rose to 
Silvestik's lips ; all his pure simple worship of Annik 
was dimmed by a cloud of furious jealousy. He had 
seen Guerik taking Lao Coatfrec to his hearth-stone to 
woo Annik. 

" I was a fool not to guess it yesterday. I might 
have spoken then, and so have had her answer before 
Lao had time to court her with his false words. He is 
a thief, and therefore he must be a liar — curse him !" 

He plunged his hands into his hair ; he stood gazing 
wildly at the house, while one mad thought and then 
ar other wrecked all self-control. Then, with a sudden 



ii6 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

impulse, he went fast up the hill, on along the road for 
some distance, till he paused at a cross-road — ^just such 
a narrow sunken turning, between two lofty banks, as 
that where, he had heard the wind shriek over the stone- 
strewn waste near Nizon. 

" I will see Ursule, and ask her help," he said ; 
" right ways are useless against knaves and plotters — 
they must be met in their own way : who can say how 
those two may deceive Annik ? I must take any means 
to win her." 

But even then his conscience misgave him, and to 
quiet its pricks he plunged recklessly down the hollow 
way. 

Down, down, it led him, through wet and mire and 
bramble-tangled paths on to a vast waste. Here it was 
not so dark as in the narrow way, and the monotonous 
distant moaning told that the sea was not far off. There 
was light enough to show pools of water, and in the 
midst of these was a cluster of huge stones, like a long 
low hut. At sight of this Silvestik stopped, and his 
heart beat violently. He tried mechanically to cross 
himself, but his fingers felt stiff and glued together. 
A cold dew spread over his forehead, and it seemed to 
him that the hairs lifted themselves and stood upright 
on his head. He had never visited this gloomy waste 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 117 

since he was a child ; but he had been told that the hag 
Ursule, shunned and feared by all, lived in a ruined 
Dolmen at the end of the narrow road he had descended. 
This, then, must be her abode. 

Silvestik was brave : he had rescued three men from 
drowning at the risk of his own life ; he was an ex- 
cellent wrestler, and never shrank from any amount of 
bodily fatigue or pain ; but he shook with actual fear 
at the thought of intruding on Mother Ursule. 



Chapter IV. 

WHAT THE WITCH SAID. 

While Silvestik stood undecided and unnerved some- 
thing touched him, and then, rubbing itself against his 
legs, the creature purred. The familiar sound revived 
him, and he felt himself again, when a lantern came out 
of the group of stones, and a deep voice said. 
" Tartare ! Tartare ! come home ; it is time." 
The cat left off rubbing against Silvestik, and moved 
towards the lantern : the youth followed the animal, 
striving to keep down fear. 

" Who art thou ?" He had not nearly reached ttie 
light when this question was sternly asked. 



ii8 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" I am Silvestik Kergroes," he said quickly ; " I 
come to consult you, Mother Ursule." 

" Come in, my son, come in " — the voice had a 
softened, almost a fawning sound in it — " let us see how 
a poor old woman can help the rich miller of Nizon." 

Silvestik started. It was only the day before yester- 
day that he had learned his cousin's kind intentions ; 
how could the news have already reached Ursule, who 
rarely went into Kerion ? 

" I rich ! No, no, mother," he laughed, as he 
followed her, rejoiced to find that she was, after all, an 
ordinary old woman ; " I never expect to be rich." 

He followed her through an opening in the dolmen ; 
then he paused and looked round. 

Ursule was holding up the lantern, and he saw that 
he was in a sort of stone vault, surrounded by upright 
blocks of granite. In the midst was a huge stone table, 
grooved in the centre, and in one corner, between two 
lower stones, was a dull smouldering fire. As he looked 
round to the door by which he had entered, he started 
violently. In the darkness above the entrance were two 
yellow eyes glaring at him. 

"Come down, Tartare!" Ursule said querulously. 
" Now, Miller, shall I tell thee what thou hast come to 
seek?" 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 119 



Silvestik stared at her in wonder ; while the cat 
sprang down from its post of observation, and nestled 
on Ursule's shoulder. 

She was very witch-like as she stood, the yellow 
light from the lantern falling on her skinny cheeks and 
narrow spiteful eyes. Her face was darker than Nature 
had made it, from an incrustation of dirt, and tangled 
grizzled hair fell over it from beneath an old rusty 
black hood. 

" I am not yet the miller of Nizon, mother ; my 
cousin is better and may recover — who knows V 

She shook her fingers in his face, thereby displaying 
how long-nailed and crooked they were. Silvestik drew 
back with a start. He felt as if those brown claws 
could hook out his eyes as easily as the yellow-eyed 
cat on Ursule's shoulder could tear out the heart of a 
bird. 

" ' Who knows,' " she laughed. " You are come, then, 
to teach, and not to question, young man V 

" I am come for advice, mother ; but I have no 
money to return for it." He watched her face eagerly, 
but in the dim light he saw no change from the keen 
gaze she had kept on him since he entered her den. 
Then he unbuckled his broad buff leather belt, and threw 
it on the table between them, the metal clasp ringing 



I20 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

on the stone as it fell. " I can offer this," he said 
timidly. 

Ursule laughed. 

''What else?" She fingered the belt, pushing out 
her lower lip contemptuously when she saw how plain 
the clasp was. 

Silvestik looked puzzled. He took ofT his hat and 
rubbed his forehead with his orange cotton handkerchief. 
" I forgot this," he said, and he began to undo the metal 
buckle that fastened a broad black velvet round the 
crown of his hat. 

" Keep your rubbish, boy, and be speedy," Ursule 
said fiercely. She flung the belt into one of the dark 
corners of the den. " Say out at once what you 
want." 

Silvestik's faith in the witch's power was shaken by 
her contempt of his poverty. How foolish he had been 
to come empty-handed ! and yet, unless he borrowed 
money of his cousin, he did not know how he could get 
any sum sufficient to offer to the old witch. 

" Come, be quick, loiterer I say what you want," 
she said hoarsely. She saw that he hesitated, and she 
was unwilling to lose a fresh dupe. 

" I want " — he stammered — " that is, how can a 
young man v/ho is poor — approach a " 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 121 

He stopped. His downcast eyes and the flush on 
his honest face told his secret. 

" Silvestik Kergroes asks " — Ursule spoke mock- 
ingly to the cat on her shoulder — "how he is to win a 
rich Pennherez/ and what steps he is to take to get her 
for his wife ?" 

Silvestik's eyes opened widely, and so did his mouth ; 
his surprise was unbounded. 

'' Well, mother," he said simply, " if I had not believed 
in you before, I believe in you now ; you know wishes 
before they are spoken." 

" He is a young fool, Tartare !" She had turned 
her face round to the cat, showing a hideous wrinkled 
throat in the action. "He forgets, Tartare, that before 
a man hints his love he must make sure that a girl will 
listen with patience, at least." 

" Yes, yes, mother, I know she would listen with 
patience," he said eagerly. " Annik is sweet and gentle, 
but I want to know what her answer will be. Only a 
hope that she loves could encourage me to ask her, and 
as she is rich and I am poor " 

" Rich ! ta, ta ! he calls a few hundred francs riches, 
Tartare. Annik, indeed ! it is well Silvestik sought our 
advice. Annik " — she stood thinking, while the cat 
nestled its head against her face and purred loudly. 

^ Pennherez is Breton for heiress. 



122 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Boy ! she turned suddenly to Silvestik — " you have 
no chance with Annik ; give her up, and choose some 
one who is less sure of lovers." 

" I will not give her up," Silvestik said stoutly ; " if 
you cannot help me, I will find out by myself whether 
she will be mv wife." 

He turned to go, for he was provoked by Ursule's 
mockery. 

She bent forward and caught at his sleeve : her eyes 
gleamed with anger, - 

" Listen, fool ! since you will not take a friendly 
warning ; listen, and be sure you do as I tell you. You 
shall try the spell. I know Annik ; and if you will 
succeed with her, you must not give a word or a look 
of love till you have tried the spell — not even if you see 
others wooing her.' 

"The spell!" — Thoughts of Father Pierre, of the 
warnings he had often spoken against belief in the pagan 
traditions that haunt the lands and stones of the country, 
came back, and made Silvestik hesitate. 

Ursule read his face easily. 

" Go your ways, fool, and never intrude here again ! 
I tell you the man who approaches Annik without 
having first tried whether he can master her love, 
loses her for ever. Only by the spell can he learn 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 123 

his fate, and if the spell says Yes, it binds her also to 
be his." 

"Well," he said crossly, "what is the spell?" 

" Before I tell you, you must swear to do as I bid 
you — swear on the head of Tartare," 

And she kept her eyes fixed, with a strange con- 
straining power, on Silvestik. 

As if the cat understood her mistress's words, it 
leaped down on to the stone, and sat there, upright and 
with closed eyes, like a black idol. 

Ursule stretched out her lean fingers for Silvestik's 
hand, and placed it on the cat's head. " Say my words," 
she whispered. She paused and fixed her eyes on the 
youth, who repeated her words like a parrot. 

" I, Silvestik Kergroes," she said, " swear by the 
soul of my mother, and by my own salvation " 

At the word " salvation " Silvestik hesitated, but the 
witch grasped his arm warningly, and he went on — 

" That I will, on the night of Saturday, go alone, 
without telling my purpose to a living soul, to the 
Rocking-Stone of Tregunc. There I will strive three 
times to move the stone by gentle pushes of my body 
and hands. If it remains firm, I may ask Annik with 
sure hope ; but if it rocks ever so little, her love is not 
fcr me : it has been given to more than one before me." 



124 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

As Silvestik repeated the last words, the cat opened 
its great yellow eyes, and leaped back to its resting-place 
on Ursule's shoulder. 

Ursule took something from a pocket in her apron, 
and strewed it on the stone table ; then she struck 
sparks over it with flint and steel. A sudden light 
flared out and lit up the den with a lurid glare, in which 
the old woman looked like an animated corpse. 

She caught hold of Silvestik's hand, and held it 
over the flame. 

" Swear to do this," she said hoarsely. 

" I have sworn already." Silvestik felt sullen and 
ashamed ; he shivered too, for he believed in the witch, 
spite of himself 

" But, mother, Pierre Mao did all this," he said, " and 
a week after his corpse was washed up by the waves on 
the rocks beyond the Stone of Tregunc." 

Ursule did not answer for some moments. 

" Silvestik," she said, as the flames died out, and 
left them in semi-darkness, " that poor fool, Pierre, dis- 
obeyed my commands, and so he perished ; if you speak 
to Annik in the interval, the spell is broken, and the 
stone will not speak truly, nor can I say what may befall 
you ; but keep your tongue quiet, and all will be well ; 
go on Saturday, when the light has faded out of the sky 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 125 

— go alone, remember : if the stone does not rock, it 
will hold the maiden's heart fast to yours for ever." 



Chapter V. 

LAO'S WOOING. 

"I WISH the good father would come back," thought 
Annik. "No one else can tell me what to do." 

She was sitting at the foot of the tall gray calvary, 
beside the church, not far from the farm-house ; but the 
large spreading chestnut boughs in front of this 
screened her effectually. She hid her face in her hands, 
though there was no one by to see the warm blood rush 
up to her face. 

She was struggling with a keen dislike to leave 
Kerion. 

This morning, Mathurin had spoken sternly to her. 
He said he was tired of having her at the farm ; he 
meant to arrange a marriage for her without delay. 

" I do not wish to marry," the girl said angrily ; and 
then she blushed at her words, and came out to sit 
under the calvary. 

Since the Cure s departure, Lao Coatfrec had come 
every day to the farm-house, and Annik wondered 
whether he was the proposed suitor. 



126 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" No one shall choose my husband," she said saucily. 

Old Barba had often warned Annik that her money 
was not safe with Mathurin, but when the girl had 
consulted her only friend, the Cure, he bid her be 
patient. 

" You cannot go out into the world alone, my child, 
and you do not wish to enter a convent ; you have no 
relatives, and a home you must have ; be patient, then, 
and trust in God." 

" I wonder what Monsieur le Cure will say now ? I 
cannot stay here, and yet it would be easier for 2. poor 
girl to find a home than for me." 

Annik sat now with hands disconsolately clasped 
in her lap. 

All at once a shadow came between her and the 
light : she looked up and saw Lao Coatfrec. 

"Good morning, pretty Annik," he said ; and then, 
without waiting for her answer, he seated himself also on 
the steps of the calvary. 

Annik reddened this time with vexation. If Sil- 
vestik or any other Kerion lads spoke to her, they 
addressed her as Mademoiselle. She thought Lao's 
manner impertinent. 

She looked rather haughty, but the beseeching 
admiration in his eyes soothed her. "After all," she 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 127 

thought, " the poor fellow can't help liking me. I need 
not be cross." 

" Did you always live at Auray before you came to 
Kerion V he asked. 

" Yes," Annik sighed, " my mother and my aunt 
and I all lived beside the Loch at Auray. When my 
mother died, my aunt married Mathurin Guerik, and 
we came to Kerion." 

"You must find this a poor dull place after Auray," 
said Lao; "and a pretty maid like you would take 
pleasure in a more lively town even than Auray, I fancy. 
What say you to Brest .''" 

Annik looked up quickly ; she was so preoccupied 
with her own plans for leaving Kerion, that she failed to 
understand Lao's drift. 

" Brest is so far off, and it always seems to me that 
people must lose their way in a great city." 

Lao laughed gaily. 

" My dear little country mouse," he said, " Brest 
could be put in a corner of Paris, or even of Nantes ; 
but, small as it is, it is full of life ; it is the sailor's 
home, and you need never lose your way when you have 
a strong arm ready to protect you." 

He looked meaningly into her eyes, and drew close 
beside her. But the familiarity of his tone had startled 



128 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Annik, and when she met his eyes anger rose quickly in 
her own. 

She looked away, and saw some one coming up 
from the fountain beyond the church. It was Silvestik, 
bearing a large water pitcher ; behind him hobbled a 
bent old man, for whom he was carrying it. 

Annik nodded to both of them. 

" Good day, Jean Marie ; good-day, Silvestik," she 
said ; "what news of your cousin V^ 

She felt sure that this advance on her part would 
cause the youth to set down his pitcher and enter into 
talk, thus releasing her from her unwelcome tete-a-tite ; 
but, to her surprise, Silvestik only bent his head very 
slightly, and passed on, leaving her alone with Lao. 

She could hardly keep from crying. Ever since it 
had been said that Silvestik would soon leave Kerion, 
Annik had felt troubled and restless. He was her 
favourite among the youths of the village ; he was so 
respectful, yet so anxious to please her ; he was good- 
looking, and, above all, he was liked by the good Cure. 
But she was very angry with him now ; he had looked 
so sheepish, and it was clownish and ill-mannered to 
pass on without a word. 

The colour rose in her cheeks, and she pouted to 
lierself, " I have been very silly to waste a thought on 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 129 

Silvestlk, he is a foolish fellow." She turned to Lao 
with a smile. 

"I think/' — she spoke as if no interruption had 
come to their talk, though she was pinching the tips of 
her fingers to keep down vexation — " I should like to 
see a great city just for once. I want to see great 
churches and fine shops ; but to live in a city, oh, no ! 
I should feel like a bird in a cas^e." 

"No one could ever cage you," he said softly ; "you 
have a spirit, I can see that, and you will always be a 
free bird ; you will always be obeyed." 

The flattery of his tone was soothing, but his bold 
admiring gaze made her eyes droop. 

"Women have to obey," said Annik, laughing, and 
she rose up, thinking she had sat there long enough 
with Lao. 

"Yes, yes, my sweet one ; but you would not care to 
obey a mate like yon poor frightened fool." He pointed 
after Silvestik. " My faith, a maid will have to ask 
that lad to wed ; he is too much a coward to go a- 
wooing." 

He burst into a loud laugh. Annik reddened and 
felt guilty ; she had known Silvestik much longer than 
she had known this new acquaintance ; why should she 
join in ridiculing her old friend } And yet she felt sore 

K 



I30 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

and angry with Silvestik for his avoidance, and it was 
soothing to feel that Lao Hked to talk to her. 

" Well, I must go home. Jeff v/ill be wanting me. 
Good day, Monsieur Coatfrec ; perhaps some day I may 
go to Brest.'' 

She nodded gaily. ^ 

She looked very charming as she ran away under 
the spreading chestnut trees. Lao watched her till she 
disappeared through the round-headed doorway of the 
farm-house, and then he swore aloud — 

" I will have that little girl : she pleases me. But I 
have learned something sitting here this morning, and 
watching her tell-tale cheeks. Guerik is a fool ; he does 
not see that she can be humoured into anything through 
her vanity ; but she won't stand driving. She has a 
temper ; what a rage she got in when that dolt Kergroes 
passed her by without speaking. I thought the lout cared 
for her ; I see I was mistaken. Well, I must go and report 
progress to my grandam ; I have not seen her lately." 

Chapter VL 

what happened to silvestik. 

The stormy night had finally brought a heavy ram-fall, 
and by Saturday the road leading to Concarneau was a 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 131 

succession of muddy pools. Kerion lay on the waste, 
some way from the high-road itself; yet, even when 
this was reached, the deep cart-ruts filled with water 
looked like continuous miniature canals, and, as evening 
fell, walking in the obscure light was both difficult and 
dangerous to the ankles of the wayfarer. 

On each side was a dreary moor, covered with heather, 
so that there was no obstacle to hinder the light and 
increase the fast-spreading gloom. 

Silvestik had left Kerion earlier than he intended, 
but he hurried along the rough road, reckless of its perils 
to unwary walkers. He felt despair hanging like lead 
at his heart. That morning he had again seen Lao 
talking to Annik, and he thought that the girl looked 
lovingly at her companion. For a moment Silvestik felt 
that he must interfere ; that he must tell her how un- 
worthy Lao was of her regard ; but he remembered the 
witch's warning ; indeed, Annik gave him no chance of 
speaking ; at his approach she turned away. 

Now as he stumbled on along the rugged miry road, 
he asked himself if he was not a fool to go on acting 
blindly by the advice of Ursule. Only yesterday he had 
learned the connection between the witch and Lao 
Coatfrec. 

"And yet," he thought, "that could not influence 



132 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Ursule's advice. Lao does not want Annik ; he is too 
bold and free-living to care to be cumbered with a wife ; 
he is only amusing himself with her." 

Ah, if he had only awaited the Cure's return, instead 
of consulting Ursule, Father Pierre would have told 
Annik the true character of the man, who was only 
flattering her, and trying to destroy her peace ; but 
with the remembrance of the Cure came also a vivid 
remembrance of warnings he had uttered against pagan 
superstitions, and specially against the spells used by 
Ursule. 

Silvestik stopped and hung his head with shame. 
Was he not bound on a godless errand 1 Should he turn 
back ? 

He set his teeth hard. 

" No, I cannot lose her. I will try the spell. If the 
stone remains firm, Annik is mine ; and till Lao came 
there was a look in her eyes when she talked with me, 
which at least was liking." 

He went on still faster, and just as the light grew 
very dim he came in sight of the enormous block of 
granite which goes by the name of the Rocking-Stone 
of Tregunc. 

Silvestik stepped off the road, and went up to the 
stone. There was still light enough to show that the 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 133 

huge mass rested solely on a projecting angle placed on 
another block deeply sunk in the earth. 

Silvestik looked at the Rocking-Stone, and then he 
tried to remember the witch's words. He felt a strong 
reluctance to touch the stone, which in the gloom looked 
like a dark formless monster ; but at the thoug-ht of 
Annik his resolution came back. Placing his hands 
about midway on the stone, he tried to move it. He 
might as well have tried to uproot a Menhir. He paused 
in his effort, and then tried again, but this time, though 
he set his shoulder to help his hands, the massive block 
of stone kept firm. 

His hopes rose wildly. "She is mine; she is good 
and true, my sweet Annik ; I was a fool to doubt her : 
to-morrow I will hear from her own lips that she loVes me." 

He did not feel inclined to make the third trial, when 
suddenly he heard the purring of a cat. He started, and 
looked round. The purring came from across the road, 
and as he looked his hair seemed to lift itself on his 
forehead. He saw two yellow balls of flame, which he 
guessed were Tartare's eyes. 

He was being watched, then ; who could tell by what 
evil beings .? and if he failed in obedience he might be 
torn to pieces. 

"And I am in their power, for I have sought their 



134 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

help." He turned angrily to the stone. This time he 
only pushed it slightly, and to his dismay he felt it yield 
under his fingers, and, as they still touched it, it con- 
tinued to rock for some seconds. 

Silvestik gave a wild cry of despair, and rushed on 
across the road, heedless how he went, in the direction 
of Tartare's eyes. He felt a stunning blow, and then he 
fell senseless beside a huge mass of granite. 



Chapter VH 

what annik heard in her bedroom. 

Annik had been unhappy all day. She had slighted 
Silvestik, and she had allowed Lao to speak to her too 
freely, and this evening he had come in to see Guerik, 
and had again spoken familiarly to her, as if there were 
an understanding between them. And when she looked 
scornful and angry, the farmer patted Lao's shoulder 
and encouraged him to go on. 

" It is the way with women, friend Coatfrec," he said, 
winking at him ; " they always say No when they mean 
Yes." 

At this Annik flamed into indignant words, and 
running up the staircase ladder to her little room, she 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 135 

drew the bolt across the door, resolved not to go down 
till Lao had taken his departure. 

She sat half-an-hour in the darkness thinking of 
Silvestik, and puzzling over his strange behaviour. 
From below came the sound of men's voices, broken by 
the flapping of the chestnut leaves against her window. 
She began to feel tired of waiting. Lao was still talking 
to her uncle. She had no candle, and through the wide 
chinks in the rough flooring of her room the red fire-light 
peeped in lines here and there. 

" I am tired," Annik thought, " I shall not go down 
again to-night," and she began to prepare for bed. 

The large silver-headed pin which fastened her 
bodice slipped from her fingers and fell on the floor, and 
she stooped hurriedly, lest it should roll through one of 
the crevices. She felt for it in the darkness, and as she 
found it, a flush of joy glowed on her cheeks. Silvestik 
had given it her as a fairing last year when she had 
danced with him at the Pardon of Pont-Aven. Bat the 
glow faded quickly into a trembling chill of fear, and 
instead of rising from her knees, Annik lay down on the 
boards, placing her ear on one of the larger crevices 
marked by the line of red light that glowed up from the 
room beneath. She had heard her name spoken by Lao, 
coupled with the word " wife." 



i3^ PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



" Trust me," Guerik said in answer, " Annik shall be 
your wife in a week." 

" Why not sooner ? I can ill spare a week ; my 
mates will be getting unruly, and I should have liked a 
day or so with the little one in Brest before I go off again. 
Why cannot I wed Annik on Monday ?" 

Guerik laughed. " You are a fine fellow to lecture 
me about dealing gently by the girl, and then to want 
to marry her out of hand without any approaches." 

" Leave me alone, my friend ; I know the sex." Lao's 
laugh made the girl shiver as she lay listening. " I told 
you that three days ago. Meantime Annik and I have 
not kept apart ; and " — the speaker paused, as if he 
looked round to secure himself against a listener ; he 
went on in a lower voice — " I have learned something 
else. Mark you, this is between ourselves — that young 
fool Kergroes, with all his sheepishness, is mad with love 
for Annik. He has sold his soul to my grandmother 
for a spell to charm the girl's love." 

" And are you fool enough to believe such old 
w^omen's tales, Lao ? I should have thought even 
Silvestik had more sense. What may this spell be ?" 

Trembling in every limb, Annik lay straining her 
ear to catch the answer. 

•' Ursule has sent him to-night to the Rocking-Stone. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 137 

She tells me the spell will fail, but that its power will 
drive Silvestik distracted, and that probably he will rush 
on to the sea, and be carried off by the waves, as that poor 
fool Pierre was carried some years ago, for Ursule has 
fixed the time for trying the spell at the turn of the tide. 
This must not come to Annik's ears. A woman, however 
pretty, is such a fool, that if she hears of a man running a 
risk for love of her, she loves him at once, and, who can 
say, perhaps gives herself up to his memory. Silvestik 
will not be missed for a week or so ; folks will think he 
is at Nizon. It is a good plan — aha ! my grandmother 
is a clever woman." 

Annik lay as if spell-bound ; her senses seemed to 
be going ; but just then a bough struck the window, and 
she roused. 

"There is yet another question." Annik's heart 
throbbed so painfully that she could scarcely bear to 
listen, and yet she must hear all — she feared to lose a 
syllable of her uncle's answer. " Suppose Silvestik comes 
back safe and sound V There was a sneer in Guerik's 
voice. 

Lao swore a frightful oath, and the girl heard him 
rise violently from his seat and stamp on the clay floor. 

" He will not ; he is too great a fool. Ursule swore 
to him that if the spell failed, he had no chance with 



138 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Annik, and weak lads such as he is have no courage to 
persevere. He will never come back to Kerion." 

" Do not you be too sure of that, Lao Coatfrec ; while 
there is life there is hope. For an hour or so the lad 
may give way to despair, but after that he will say to 
himself that he cannot make matters worse by speaking 
to Annik, and he may make them better ; and, to tell 
you the truth, I fancy the foolish girl likes him. Yes, 
yes, if the tide does not carry him off, my friend, he will 
come back and try his chance." 

*' Then " — Lao spoke coolly, but in a determined 
voice — " he must not come back to Kerion." 

There was silence after this. Presently Guerik spoke 
and Lao answered, but in such low voices, that Annik 
could not distinguish words. It seemed to her, from the 
dull continued murmur, that the two men were carrying 
on the talk in whispers. 

Annik rose up softly from the floor. She felt 
strangely calm and alert. One thought ruled her — to 
leave the house as quickly and silently as she could, and 
to warn Silvestik of coming danger. 

She dared not go down-stairs ; she could not open 
the heavy house door, which she had heard her uncle 
close, without risk of noise ; she dared not even undraw 
the bolt of her room. But she saw her way of escape 
clearly, and at once set to work to reach it. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 139 

Her room was but half the size of that below, half 
being boarded off and used as a receptacle for fodder. 
There was a square opening in this boarded parti- 
tion, with a bit of canvas nailed across to screen off the 
draught which came through a window opening in the 
hay-loft. 

Annik cautiously dressed herself, and then, with a 
pair of scissors, she cut open the canvas screen that 
divided her from the hay-loft. Once more she listened, 
but the dull murmur of voices had not ceased. 

There was more light from the outer opening in the 
loft than had come through Annik's window, though a 
chestnut tree stood close to the house on this side also, 
but the nearest branch had been scathed by lightning, 
and was now leafless. 

With her shoes in her hand, Annik got through the 
opening from her room into the loft. Slowly and softly, 
step by step, feeling her way as she went on, she groped 
across the hay and bean stalks till she reached the outer 
opening. 

She leant forward and stretched out her hand till it 
touched the long scathed branch that reached across the 
back of the house — it was no new experience for Annik 
to descend by the chestnut tree. Often when her uncle's 
rude words had made her run upstairs in anger, she had 



I40 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

got out of the house by this means, and now she soon 
found her way to the branch and from thence quickly to 
the soft ground below, for the rain had made mire of the 
yard behind the house. 

She paused and listened. She could only hear the 
movement of the cows within the house ; she slipped on 
her shoes, and started off in the darkness towards 
Tregunc. 



Chapter VII I. 

WHAT ANNIK SAW AT THE ROCKING-STONE. 

Heavy-footed, for the mud clung in lumps to her 
shoes, tired, yet too overwrought to be sensible of fatigue, 
Annik at last reached the road beside which stood the 
Rocking-Stone, and before long the vast mysterious 
mass loomed in the darkness. 

She looked round her. The dull sound of lapping 
waves told that the sea was not far off, and southwards 
the lightness of the horizon pointed out its whereabouts. 

The dull sadness of the sound recalled Lao's ominous 
words — " He must not come back to Kerion." 

" Silvestik ! Silvestik !" she cried, in an agony of 
terror, "where art thou } It is Annik who calls." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 141 



From across the road came a voice she knew well — 
the voice of the good Cure. 

" Who goes there ? If you are a Christian man or 
woman, in the name of God come and help a dying man !" 

A thrill of terror passed through Annik. 

"I come, I come!" she cried. 

And she went in the direction of the voice, slipping 
and stumbling over the uneven ground ; and soon, in the 
darkness, she saw the priest bending over some one who 
lay outstretched at his feet. 

Without a word she flung herself down beside the 
senseless body, and chafed the cold hands, till at last she 
fancied they moved within her own. 

The Cure spoke, and she answered, but it seemed to 
Annik that she was some one else, and that she heard 
her own voice speaking to the good father, " Beware of 
Lao and of Guerik," she said, "they will murder Silvestik." 

Presently came footsteps, and a light beamed up the 
road. Annik rose to her feet, and she saw her uncle and 
Lao. 

She stretched out her arms and spoke vehemently — 
" Keep off, cowards and murderers ! You shall not touch 
Silvestik." 

But as she spoke she grew faint and giddy ; and as 
Lao answered her soothingly, she sank on the ground. 



142 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

"Mathurin Guerik," the Cure said sternly, "go back 
at once for your horse and cart to carry these children 
home. As to you," he said to Lao, '' begone — you are 
not wanted." 

This was all Annik heard, and then she knew no 
more. 

Annik opened her eyes, and wondered as she looked 
round her. 

"Aha!" a cheery voice said from the chair beside 
the bed, " you have slept late, my poor Annik ; you 
must rise now, for Monsieur le Cure wants a talk with 
you." 

Jeanneton, the Cure's old housekeeper, patted the 
girl's cheek, and handed her a cup of coffee. But Annik 
could not drink. She sat up gazing in the cheery old 
face with eager straining eyes. She feared to ask the 
question that hung on her lips. The old woman seemed 
to understand the questioning look. 

" Silvestik is all right," she said. " It is well to be 
young," she went on, and she shook her head reproach- 
fully. " Monsieur le Cure permits much to young people, 
or I would ask what you and Silvestik Kergroes had 
been about when the good father found you and brought 
you both home half dead last night." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 143 



"And he ?" — cried Annik, with a burst of sobs. 

"He!" Jeanneton shrugged her shoulders. "He is 
in the parlour with Monsieur. But he is a fright, I can 
tell you, with his bandaged head and broken arm — poor 
fellow ! You seem to have come off best, mademoiselle," 
she added crossly. 

But Annik flung her arms round the old woman's 
neck, laughing, and crying, and sobbing all at once, in a 
most incoherent manner — a manner which, as Jeanneton 
afterwards told her master, was quite unsuited to a pres- 
bytery. 

But for all that, Annik stayed on at the Cure's house 
till the chestnut leaves grew brown, and began to fall 
slowly from their stalks, and then, one fine clear morning, 
Silvestik and Annik were wedded in the little village 
church of K6rion, and went home to Nizon to live at the 
mill. 

Lao Coatfrec never came back to Kerion, though 
Mathurin Guerik still lived on in the old farm-house ; 
but Annik never crossed its threshold after her marriage. 



144 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



CHAPTER VI. 



AURAY— THE BISCLAVERET. 



Our next halt after Quimperle was at the httle town of 
Auray, 'which is among the most pleasant of Breton 
towns, quaint and quiet, sleeping beside the river of 
the same name. 

It possesses no public buildings worthy of remark^ 
and though in the oldest quarter there still remain many 
picturesque houses dating from mediaeval times, the 
charm of the place consists chiefly in its pleasant posi- . 
tion beside the river, almost surrounded by wooded 
hills. It is pleasant of an evening to see the women 
sitting in front of the quaint old houses, knitting or 
spinning, while their tongues go as fast as the whirr of 
the wheels. 

Within a drive are to be found the stones of Carnac ; 
and a day will take the traveller to the remarkable 
scenery and antiquities of Loc-maria-ker and back. 

A few miles from the town is the church of St. Anne 
dAuray, celebrated for its yearly pilgrimages. Many 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



145 



thousands of pilgrims flock thither from all parts of 
Brittany ; and the scenes both inside and outside the 




OLD WOMAN SPINNING. 



church are most picturesque and entertaining. Among 

other curious ceremonies, the pilgrims go up and down 

the steps of the Scala Santa on their knees. There is 

L 



146 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

also a miraculous fountain, and countless bowls and 
vessels full of the healing water are drunk there. Blind 
and lame beggars drive a " roaring trade " at this spot. 

Close to Auray is the establishment of the Chart- 
reuse ; it occupies the site of the chapel that the Duke of 
Brittany, John the Fourth, caused to be built upon the 
field of the battle of Auray. Near the church belong- 
ing to the convent is the famous Champ des Martyrs ; 
and here, too, stands the monument to the memory of 
the emigres and royalists who fell at Quiberon, or were 
shot on the banks of the Auray. 

All these places of interest make the little town of 
Auray a very desirable place to spend some days in 
In the woods round Auray wolves used to be plentiful ; 
and probably the scene of the Lai of Marie de France 
was not far from Auray. 

A BRETON LEGEND ADAPTED FROM THE LAI OF 
MARIE DE FRANCE. 

Once upon a time there lived in Brittany a noble 
gentleman of great worth and remarkable beauty. He 
was in high favour with his prince, and was dearly loved 
and honoured by his friends. To crown all, he had 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 1^7 

lately married a lovely lady of high degree, and she 
loved him very tenderly. They were as happy as the 
birds in springtime ; but after a while one circum- 
stance troubled the young wife's happiness, and caused 
her many hours of sad and anxious thought. She 
observed that regularly every week her lord went away 
from home for three days. She asked him the reason, 
but he either made no reply or else evaded her inquiries. 
Then she questioned some of the old retainers, but no 
one seemed to know what became of their lord during 
the three days of his absence from home. 

Time passed on, and she grew yet more troubled and 
suspicious. 

One day her lord came home in a more joyous 
and affectionate humour than was usual to him, and the 
lady thought this was the opportunity she had been 
seeking. 

She returned his caresses very tenderly, and then 
entreated him to explain to her the mystery of these 
frequent absences from his castle. 

" But for them," she cried, " I should be truly happy ; 
surely you will remove this cloud from my mind. 

The lord looked sorely troubled, and he turned his 
face from her with a deep sigh. 

*' You must not question me, my beloved," he an- 



148 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

swered ; " it may be that if you do, you will altogether 
destroy our happiness." 

But her curiosity was far stronger than her love 
was, and at last, overcome by her fond importunities, he 
confessed his fatal secret. He told her that he was a 
Loup-garou, or a Bisclaveret, as the Bretons call the 
creature, and that during the three days of his weekly 
absence from home he roamed the forest hard by in the 
form of a wolf. 

" Dame jeo deviens Bisclaveret, 
En cele grant forest me met." 

The lady's heart grew cold with horror ; but she hid 
her surprise and dread as well as she could, and continued 
her questions — 

" Do you roam this forest in your clothes V she asked. 

" No," he answered, sadly. 

'' Tell me then," she said, coaxingly, " what you do 
with your clothes .''" 

But her lord shook his head and withdrew himself 
from her arms. 

" I may not satisfy you on this point," he said, "for 
if by any chance I were to lose my clothes, or if I were 
even seen in the act of taking them off, I should be con- 
demned to remain a loup-garou until my clothes were 
restored to me." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 149 



The lady burst into tears. 

"Ah, how unkind you are," she sobbed, "Mon Dieu ! 
what have I done to forfeit your confidence. Tell me, 
my husband, what risk can there be in trusting your secret 
to your faithful wife ?" 

Under the influence of these words, and the like, and 
many caresses, the poor gentleman once more yielded. 

" You know," he said, " the ancient ruined chapel near 
to where the four roads meet in the forest. There I 
find at these times safe shelter. In a thicket near there 
is a hollow stone, under which I hide my clothes." 

The lady said nothing ; but she thought much. She 
was greatly disturbed by all she had heard ; she was 
married to a loup-garou ! and this was anything but a 
pleasant fact to ponder on. She shuddered whenever 
she looked at her husband, and the result of her medita- 
tions was, that she determined to get rid of him. But 
she kept her plans to herself, and dissembled like a woman 
who knows all the tricks of her sex. She affected even 
more than her usual love for her handsome lord. 

There lived in the neighbourhood another cavalier, 
who was passionately in love with the wife of the loup- 
garou. Up to this time she had treated him v/ith great 
coldness — but now he came into her mind ; he was not so 
handsome as her lord, but he was not a loup-garou. She 



I50 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



changed her behaviour towards him. During the absence 
of her husband she sent the cavaHer an invitation to come 
and see her, giving him to understand that she was wiUing 
to accept his love and his service. The cavalier, full of 
joy, hastened to present himself before her. Their inter- 
view was long and satisfactory ; the lady told him of the 
secret trouble that had come into her life, and demanded 
his aid to release her from it ; she told him at the same 
time what had passed between her husband and herself 
about the concealment of the clothes — and what would 
befall if they were taken away. 

" Do you think that any union is binding to such a 
monster as a loup-garou V 

" No, by heavens !" said the cavalier, who then ex- 
pressed the most devoted love for her, and pledged him- 
self to do all she wished. So they parted. 

From that day the unfortunate husband was no more 
seen ; his friends and his relations sought for him in vain. 
His wife also made a show of great grief at his strange 
disappearance, and caused diligent search to be made, 
but before many months had elapsed she married the 
cavalier. 

Just at this time it happened that the king had 
passed a whole year without hunting, and all at once 
he felt violently inclined for a day's sport in the forest. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 151 

Now the forest in which the king was accustomed to 
hunt happened to be the very one in which our poor 
Bisclaveret had been condemned to w^ander. The kine 
summoned his noblest attendants, and set out for the 
chase. Almost as soon as the hounds were uncoupled, they 
discovered the poor animal, and dashed after him as he 
fled at their approach. They pursued him all through 
the day ; already he had received several wounds, his 
strength was almost exhausted. The hounds were closing 
in upon him, and he was preparing for the last struggle, 
when he perceived the king ; in an instant he darted up 
to the prince, raised himself against his stirrup, licked 
the prince's leg and foot, and, by his pitiful moans and 
almost human look, seemed to implore his protection. 

At first the king was alarmed by this strange inci- 
dent, but finding no harm come of it, he quickly recovered 
himself. " Hold off," he said to his followers, " and call 
off the dogs ; I forbid that any injury should be done to 
the poor animal which has sought my protection." To his 
astonishment the creature seemed to understand him. 
It at once became quiet, and stood beside his stirrup, 
looking up at him with grateful eyes. The king was 
more and more surprised ; he at once gave orders to re- 
turn to the palace. He said he had had enough sport 
for that day. The wolf followed close behind the king, 



152 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

like a dog, and when they reached the palace went up 
with him even to his chamber. The courtiers tried to 
interfere, but the king, yielding to some strange influence, 
bade them let the beast alone. 

So it came to pass that the wolf was in great favour 
both with the king and the whole court. 

He spent his days among the courtiers, who delighted 
in his intelligence and his gentleness, but every night he 
slept at the foot of the king's bed. 

Not very long after the capture of the loup- 
garou, the king determined to hold a cour pleniere, 
and to give greater importance to the occasion he invited 
all his barons and vassals to be present. The cavalier 
who had married the wife of the loup-garou came among 
the others. As usual the wolf was at his post close be- 
side the king. But when the cavalier advanced from 
the crowd to pay homage to his prince, the wolf uttered 
a wild cry, sprang upon him, threw him down, and bit 
him very severely. 

There was a loud clamour, and all was confusion, but 
the king shouted to the animal, and it immediately slunk 
back to its place beside the royal chair. Every one was 
astonished at this sudden outbreak of fury from so tame 
and gentle a creature, which had hitherto behaved more 
i:e a lamb than a wolf. But many who witnessed the 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 153 

attack shook their heads, and said it was very strange ; 
there was more in it than they could understand. 

The cavaHer was furious ; he would have killed the 
wolf if he had not feared the king's displeasure. How- 
ever, he promised himself an early day of vengeance. 

Some time after this the king went again to hunt in 
the forest where he had met with our wolf. The creature 
went with him ; it seemed as though it felt that there 
was no security for it away from the king, and, indeed, 
the king himself, moved by his affection and by some 
strange sympathy, had commanded that the animal 
should be always with him. 

The faithless wife of the loup-garou, hearing of the 
royal visit to her neighbourhood, requested an audience. 
Her request was granted, but as soon as she entered the 
king's presence the wolf sprang at her, as he had sprung 
at her husband, and bit off her nose. Swords were 
quickly drawn, and the woman was rescued from the 
furious animal, which would have been most certainly cut 
to pieces, but a wise man among those present took the 
creature's part, and begged his assailants to hold their 
hands a while, "there is something strange in all this ;" 
he said, *' I counsel His Majesty to imprison this lady 
till she confesses, if she is able, what cause for hatred 
this wolf has against herself and her husband." 



154 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

At first the terrified woman denied all knowledge of 
this beast, but after a while — faint and suffering, and 
seeing that her imprisonment was resolved on — she told 
the story of the loup-garou, and confessed her sin against 
him. She said that she and her present husband had 
stolen his clothes from under the stone where they were 
hidden ; and then bursting into tears, she said, "And this 
wolf is doubtless my former lord." 

The king then demanded if any of her lord's clothes 
were yet in her possession ; and when she answered 
" Yes," he bade her send and fetch them instantly. This 
was done, and the clothes were placed before the Bis- 
claveret, but he seemed to take no notice of them. Then 
the wise man who had before spoken said it was probable 
the loup-garou would not put on his clothes or undergo 
his metamorphosis in public. 

The king agreed with this opinion, and he himself 
took the loup-garou into his own bedroom, where he 
left him alone with the clothes. 

Some hours after he returned accompanied by two 
of his barons — and to his wonder and delight he saw his 
long lost favourite asleep upon the royal bed. 

At this sight the king could not restrain his joy ; 
with a loud cry he ran to him. 

The noble wakened at the noise, and sprang to his 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 155 

feet rubbing his eyes. The king threw his arms round 
him, and kissed him on both cheeks, crying out hov/ 
happy he was to see him once more. 

He immediately restored to him all his former 
honours and possessions, and also bestowed many rich 
gifts upon him. The faithless wife, and the cavalier who 
had helped her to acco-mplish her treason, were ignomini- 
ously banished the kingdom. The guilty pair lived some 
years after, and had several children, and strangely 
enough the girls were all born without noses. 



156 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



CHAPTER VII. 

VANNES— THE STORY OF THE GLOVER. 

From Auray the drive to Vannes is very pleasant, though 
at first sight Vannes seems dull and wanting in colour in 
comparison with the picturesque towns of Finistere. 
But it is the capital of Morbihan, and within reach of it 
are some of the grandest and weirdest of the monolithic 
remains that make Brittany so specially interesting. As 
we stayed on in Vannes, and found out its quaint twisted 
streets and charming fragments of old wall built up 
between houses, its Tour du Connetable, with the wash- 
ing-place in the river below so full of light and shade, its 
evening walks in the tree-shaded Garenne, we grew 
warmly attached to the old city so full of historical 
memories, and w^ere loth to leave it. One of its best 
local antiquaries, Mr. Alfred Fouquet, had died not long 
before Vv^e reached Vannes. He not only made some 
very useful researches in Carnac and elsewhere, and 
published a most useful little manual for the use of 
travellers in search of the real wonders of Brittany, but 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 1^7 

he had begun to collect real legends from the lips of 
the peasantry, and had published a book, now, alas ! out 
of print, containing a collection of these. We tried 
vainly to get a sight of this book, but even his widow 
did not seem to possess a copy of it ; however, we heard 
one or two of the stories, and the following is said to 
be in M. Fouquet's collection : — 

There lived in Vannes a great many years ago an 
honest and devout glover. His nearest friend was a 
tailor who lived in the place Henri Quatre, but he lay 
a-dying, and his friend the glover had stayed with him 
till a late hour doing all for him that he could. 

Late as it was he saw, as he passed the cathedral that 
the doors were still open, and he turned into the church 
and knelt before the altar of one of the side chapels. 

There was scarcely any light, almost all the worship- 
pers had departed, the place was wrapped in deep silence, 
and the poor glover, exhausted by his grief and by many 
nights of watching beside his sick friend, soon began to 
nod. 

He roused himself, but he soon fell off to sleep again, 
such sound sleep that neither the jingle of the keys nor 



158 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the sound of the locks, nor even the angelus bell, roused 
him awake. 

All at once the clock struck twelve, and then the 
glover started and rubbed his eyes ; he was stiff with 
cold, and he could not remember where he was. It was 
no longer dark, and as he opened his eyes wide awake 
now, he saw standing before the altar at which he knelt 
a priest garbed in a black chasuble embroidered with a 
large white cross. The altar was draped in black, and 
two wax candles stood on it ; by their pale light he saw 
on each candle a death's head and crossbones. 

The glover was much surprised and deeply impressed 
by what seemed to him a funereal scene, but as he was 
always more ready to help others than to think of him- 
self, he soon remarked that there was no assistant pre- 
sent, and he went and knelt down before the priest to 
act as server. 

As he knelt down he glanced at the priest's face — 

Oh, horror ! the priest was a skeleton with hollow 
eye-sockets and fleshless cheeks. 

The terrified glover fell senseless on the ground, and 
there he remained till the morning angelus bell roused 
him, and he went home to his family. 

From this time he was a changed man. All the 
serene gaiety that had once characterised him dis- 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 159 



appeared, he became morose and silent even towards 
his wife, and he scarcely noticed his children. Above all 
things he dreaded sleep ; it no sooner visited him than he 
was filled with fear, horrible dreams and frightful nieht- 
mare soon banished sleep, and made bedtime a penance 
to which he looked forward with dread. 

At last, afraid that his reason v/as deserting him, he 
resolved to confide all to his spiritual guide, and he im- 
plored the good priest to shed, if possible, some peace 
into his soul. 

*' My son," said the priest, '' you are in error ; why 
should you thus fret and disturb your soul about that 
which is perhaps only a delusion, but which, if it is real, 
should be made a matter of serious inquiry 1 Either 
Satan tempted you during that night in the cathedral, 
or you are chosen by God himself to expiate some negli- 
gence or sacrilege committed against him. There is but 
one way, my son, if you would regain peace here on 
earth and assure your eternal salvation : you must watch 
in the same place and at the same hour for the return of 
the visitation which has so shaken your nerves." 

" Oh, my father," cried the glover, " do not lay such 
a penance on me. The terror of it will infallibly destroy 
me." 

" If you go to the chapel trusting in your own 



i6o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

strength," said the confessor " you will doubtless perish ; 
but, my son, you well know that faith is our sure shield, 
and that prayer is a most powerful w^eapon. Pray and 
believe, and if the spectre reappears, question it boldly in 
the name of the living God ; bid it tell you in whose 
name it comes. Go, my son, I absolve you, and may 
God be with you." 

That very evening — strong in faith, but weak in 
spirit — the glover went to the cathedral. He knelt 
before the altar in the same chapel, but he did not 
fall asleep ; he heard the gates and doors lock, but he 
did not think he prayed fervently till the dreaded hour 
came. 

The first stroke of midnight sounded, and all at once 
the two candles on the altar lit of themselves. The 
altar was draped in black, and the skeleton priest in his 
black chasuble appeared on the threshold of the chapel. 

" Hold," cried the glover, " if you come in the name 
of Satan I charge you to depart from this holy place ; 
but if you come in the name of Almighty God, speak, 
and tell your need." 

" Listen and believe, my son," said the spectre in a 
stifled voice ; " for years, oh ! such long years of suffering, 
I am doomed to wait every night at this altar till some 
good Christian comes to serve at a mass which I pro- 




RUK UK JERZUAL, DINAN. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. i6i 

mised to say, and which I first neglected, and then 
forgot. This fatal neglect and forgetfulness have closed 
heaven, not only against me, but against the soul for 
which the mass should have been said. Blessed art 
thou my son whom God has chosen to save two souls." 

He ceased and knelt down before the altar ; the 
glover knelt beside him, and the mass of the dead was 
said ; but as the priest uttered the words " depart in 
peace," he disappeared ; and the glover looking up, saw 
through the window two broad rays of light going up 
heavenward. 

The glover wiped his forehead, and then waited 
till the angelus bell sounded ; then he returned to his 
family with his wonted happy smile, for his mind 
had recovered its balance, and peace reigned in his 
soul. 



M 



i62 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



CHAPTER VIII. 

DINAN— THE DUEL BETWEEN BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN AND SIR 
THOMAS OF CANTERBURY— THE STORY OF LA GARAYE. 

We found the scenery of the valley of the Ranee most 
charming and romantic ; on the side and summit of a 
rocky steep in this valley the town of Dinan is built, 
and its effect from the river is exquisitely picturesque. 
The town itself is very interesting ; the older quarters 
abound in quaint houses, with overhanging stones and 
arcades on granite or wooden pillars. 

The Rue de Jerzual, the subject of the illustration, 
is of great length ; it leads down almost to the water's 
edge, and presents a succession of quaint old houses, 
forming many charming pictures. This street is so 
steep, that it is a labour to climb ; it was originally the 
only approach to the town on the St. Malo side. Now 
the splendid granite viaduct which spans the valley 
(begun in 1846) enables one to avoid this laborious 
ascent. The piers of this viaduct rise one hundred and 
thirty feet from the bed of the river. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 163 

The castle, built early in the fourteenth century, 
with its machicolated donjon, is very picturesque ; 
it is a fine and well-preserved specimen of military 
architecture. Anne of Brittany lived in it. Bertrand 
du Guesclin withstood a siege in this castle, the public 
place of Dinan was the scene of the famous combat 
between du Guesclin and the English knight, Sir 
Thomas of Canterbury, in 1359. 

It was during the siege of Dinan by the Duke of 
Lancaster, that this duel d, routi^ance took place. The 
account of it is taken from a life of Du Guesclin by 
Emile de Bonnechose. Bertrand du Guesclin was in 
Dinan with his young brother Oliver ; a suspension of 
arms for forty days having been signed, Oliver, relying 
on the treaty, went out of the town without any misgiv- 
ings, and approached the English camp. He met on his 
way a very strong and valiant English knight, by name 
Sir Thomas of Canterbury, who stopped him, seized his 
person, and taking him by force to the camp, kept him 
prisoner in his tent. When the news reached Bertrand, 
he grew red with fury (" S'y rougit comme charbon "), 
says the old chronicler, and having learned the name of 
the false knight who held his brother captive, cried out, 
"By St. Yves, he shall soon give him up." Bertrand 
immediately mounts his horse, gallops to the English 



164 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

camp, and arriving at the Prince's tent, demands an 
audience. He enters and finds the Duke of Lancaster 
playing chess with the celebrated Sir John Chandos, 
surrounded by the principal barons, among whom are 
Robert Knolles and young Montfort. 

The prince having recognised him, said, "You are 
welcome, Bertrand." And as Bertrand bent the knee 
before him, Lancaster left his game, held out his hand 
to him, and raised him up. The English barons also 
welcomed him, and Chandos offered him wine ; but 
Bertrand answered that he would not lift a glass to his 
lips until justice had been done him for the foul outrage 
ofifered to his brother. He then told them how his brother 
Oliver had been taken captive, contrary to all right, by 
Canterbury, and demanded that he should be delivered 
up to him at once. Lancaster immediately summoned 
the accused to his presence and ordered him to answer 
the accusation. Canterbury, trusting in his strength, 
and full of wrath and arrogance, answered that if 
Bertrand du Guesclin imputed to him an action unworthy 
of a knight, he must prove it by sustaining his cause in 
person sword in hand, and so saying he threw down his 
glove. 

Du Guesclin rushed to pick it up. " False knight," 
said he, "perjured and traitor, I will prove it on thy 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 165 

body ! I will fight thee before all the barons. I swear by 
the true God that I will not sleep in a bed nor break 
bread until I have had the right of thee in full armour 
at the point of the sword." 

Lancaster gave his consent to the combat, and 
Chandos presented Bertrand with a horse as a mark of 
his esteem. 

When the inhabitants of Dinan heard of this duel of 
Du Guesclin in enclosed lists v/ith one of the best 
champions of England, they were moved with lively fear 
for him whom they considered their strongest defender. 
All of them great and small offered prayers to God for 
him. 

Then a noble young lady, by name Typhaine 
Raguenel, renowned for her beauty and wisdom, calmed 
their apprehensions. She was the daughter of one of 
the richest inhabitants of the town, and had so high a 
reputation for learning in astrology and other occult 
sciences, that she was considered a witch by the 
common people. '* Do not be alarmed, good people," 
she said to the townsfolks of Dinan ; "fear nothing for 
Bertrand, he will be the victor in this conflict." These 
words were repeated to Du Guesclin ; but he was then far 
from foreseeing the close ties which should hereafter 
bind him to this noble lady, and he said, " You should not 



i66 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

pay heed to the vain words of a woman, I put all my 
confidence in God and in my right." 

It was decided that the combat should take place in 
the large market-place of Dinan, in the presence of the 
Duke of Lancaster ; that the town should give hostages, 
and that the Prince should be admitted with a train of 
a hundred knights and barons chosen by himself 

As the day approached, Canterbury began to lose 
courage, and Robert Knolles, in his name, attempted to 
make an accommodation with Du Guesclin ; but Bertrand 
was too much incensed ; " If he does not wish to fight, let 
him give himself up to my mercy, and present me with 
his sword, holding it in his hand by the point" 

" He will not do that," said Robert Knolles. " He is 
right," said Bertrand, " honour is worth more than life." 

The lists were duly opened in the great market-place 
of the town, under the presidentship of the Duke of 
Lancaster, surrounded by his knights, and in the presence 
of the governor of the city, the Sire de Penhoen, and a 
vast assemblage of the inhabitants. 

The two champions appeared, armed from head to 
foot, and their horses also completely covered with steel. 

The signal given, they urged their horses forward 
with fury, and threw themselves, sword in hand, one on 
the other. The combat was long, as they seemed ol 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 167 

equal strength. The blows they gave each other were 
terrible ; the swords struck fire from their armour, 
but it was impenetrable, and no blood flowed. At last 
they seized hold of each other, each attempting to drag 
the other from his horse. 

In this struggle the Englishman dropped his sword, 
whereupon Bertrand quickly sprang down into the arena, 
seized the sword, and threw it over the lists among the 
crowd. Canterbury now had no weapon but his dagger 
or poignard ; but he was on horseback while his 
adversary was on foot, and driving his horse against Du 
Guesclin, he prevented his remounting, and pursued him 
across the arena, hoping to crush him under his horse's 
feet. 

Du Guesclin avoided him with difficulty, as he was 
impeded by his armour. At last he sat down to unfasten 
his knee-pieces, and then, as the Englishman threw him- 
self again upon him, he sprang adroitly to one side, 
plunging his sword, as his enemy passed, into his horse's 
side. The animal bounded with the pain, reared up, and 
threw his rider. Du Guesclin darted forward, seized the 
Englishman by the throat, and pressing his knee on his 
chest, struck him several blows on the face. 

The Duke of Lancaster at this juncture interfered, 
the knights ran forward and called upon Bertrand to 
spare the vanquished. 



i68 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Grant his life to the Duke," said Robert Knolles ; 
it is enough, all the honour is yours. " I grant his life 
to the Duke," said Bertrand ; and advancing towards 
the prince, " Sire," he said with respect, " if it had not 
been for obedience to you, I w^ould have killed him," 

"He will not fare much better," said Lancaster; "you 
have fought valiantly. Your brother will be restored 
to you, and I will give him a thousand livres to equip 
himself. The arms and horse of this felon knight are 
yours ; I do not love traitors, and he will come no 
more to my court." 

Lancaster and his followers returned to the camp. 
Oliver was restored to his brother and the day ended 
with a grand fete given by the inhabitants of Dinan to 
the conqueror, and at w^hich was present the beautiful 
Typhaine Raguenel, who had foretold the victory. 

She went by the name of Typhaine la Fee, from 
her reputed skill in magic and her astronomic studies. 
She was rich as well as learned; and in 1360 Du 
Guesclin asked her in marriage. The wedding was 
solemnised at Pontorson, which Du Guesclin at that 
time governed in the name of the King of France. 

Typhaine seems to have been a very fit wife for a 
hero, and the marriage was a very happy one. 

The heart of this valiant Breton knight was buried 




RUINS OF THE ABBEY, LEHON, 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 169 

beside his wife, the Lady Typhaine, in the church ot' 
the Jacobins at Dinan, but now church and heart and 
tomb have disappeared. A black stone in the cathedral 
gives the lying intelligence that Du Guesclin's heart 
reposes there, while his body is at St. Denis ; the 
hero's house is in the Rue de la Croix. Dinan is 
still surrounded by strong walls and massive watch- 
towers, and the old gateways also remain. 

The general aspect of Dinan and the country 
around are alike charming. 

" De ce splendide paysage 
Qui nous retracera I'image? — 
Venez bardes melodieux, 
De cette tribune de pierre, 
Voir le ciel sourire a la terre 
Voir la terre sourire aux cieux." 

Within an easy walk is the village of Lehon, one 
of the pleasantest and prettiest of Breton villages. 
Once it was famous for a castle and an abbey, now 
both in ruins. The castle of Lehon was one of the 
most powerful in Brittany, — built on the top of a steep 
hill overlooking the village, — but little of it now remains. 
The ruins of the abbey are far more pei feet, and, as the 
illustration shows, form a very picturesque feature in 
the landscape, as they stand embosomed in trees beside 
the sunny smiling Ranee, that prettiest of Breton rivers 



I/O 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



■ — so pretty that it perhaps loses some of the character- 
istics of Brittany — the weird pathos of its stone-covered 
landes and the turbulence of its rocky brawling streams. 




CHURCH, LSHON 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 171 



The poem, " The Lady of La Garaye," had inspired 
us with a very ardent wish to see the ruins of this 
famous chateau — famous in so remarkable a way 
— not for sieges sustained and heroic feats of valour, 
but for succour and solace given to hundreds of poor 
suffering human beings by its skilful and beneficent 
lord and lady ; for the local record of the story of the 
Count and Countess of La Garaye speaks of Count 
Claude as the prime mover in this great work of mercy, 
of which his lady's accident suggested the idea. 

We went out of quaint picturesque old-world Dinan 
by the old gateway along the shaded Boulevard, under 
the walls of the exquisitely placed town, which looks 
down on all sides on charming and wooded country. 

Soon we came into a pleasant green valley, with 
a distant view of grand old trees. This valley led us 
into a sort of rocky pass, where trees met overhead, a 
most refreshing resting-place on this hot August after- 
noon. Soon after we came in sight of the grand old 
avenue of beech-trees. These were exquisite in colour, 
light, and shade, as the level sunshine poured its 
brilliant flood over the grassed drive, while the massive 



172 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



boles of the trees cast broad bands of shadow across 
the golden floor. 




THE CHATEAU OF LA GARAYE. 



There is a loneliness even in the beauty of this old 
avenue — reaching to a length of more than two 
hundred yards — so silent now that we found it difficult to 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 173 

realise that human habitation was near, and this feeHng 
of lonehness and desolation deepened to intense melan- 
choly as we drew near the actual entrance of the 
chateau. 

The crumbling gate-piers of La Garaye are covered 
with ivy, and trees have sprung from their tops. The 
entrance-court is cumbered with blocks of ruined 
masonry — some completely mantled with ivy, others 
bright with fern ; over all thorny red-stemmed brambles 
flaunt their long arms boldly, as \{ asserting possession. 

The chateau is a complete ruin, except the well- 
known, almost perfect, bit that stands in the vegetable 
garden. This bit is exquisite in colour, yet more beau- 
tiful, perhaps, in its decay than when it was whole. 

It seems a harsh mockery to gaze at this lonely 
bit of ruin from the well-stocked fruit garden of the 
farmer who now owns La Garaye, and makes market 
out of the pilgrims who visit the site where so much 
good has been practised. It is a disgrace to the 
country that Monsieur de la Garaye's noble work 
should not have been revived — for the hospital build- 
ings still remain ; an effort at least might be made to 
prevent the total destruction of his fair home. For 
month by month stones fall from La Garaye, the bats 
and owls that haunt the clustering ivy, as they swoop 



174 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

to and fro in their night revels, shake and loosen cling- 
ing fragments, and send them into the bosom of the wild 
picturesque luxuriance below, a tangle of nettles and 
brambles extending all around, starred here and there 
with golden-eyed blossoms, while tufts of flowering 
grass and faithful snap-dragon still haunt the walls of this 
pathetic ruin, and seem to kiss the mouldering stones. 

It is difficult at first sight to picture La Garaye as 
it was in the first married years of Count Claude, and 
in the first part of that eighteenth century which 
changed the destinies of France, and branded her fair 
bosom with ineffaceable scars. 

Claude Toussaint Marot, Count of La Garaye, 
baron of Blaizon, Viscount of Beaufort and of Taden, 
and lord of many other places, commander and grand 
hospitaller of our Lady of Mount Carmel, was the 
richest and most powerful noble of his time near Dinan 
when, on the death of his eldest brother, he succeeded 
to the family estates. He was as gifted and as hand- 
some as he was rich and powerful, and he was univers- 
ally beloved. He had married a lovely and loveable 
lady, — Marie Marguerite de la Motte-Picquet, — the 
heroine of Lady Stirling-Maxwell's exquisite poem ; 
but, as has been said, one hears less in local traditions 
of the Lady of La Garaye than of her husband, though 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. ly^ 

it was doubtless the blight thrown on her early married 
life that roused fhis devoted pair from their frivolous 
course of gaiety and self-pleasing. 

Though the Chateau la Garaye is only a heap of 
ruins, there are still fragments enough left to show that 
it was a richly adorned building of the sixteenth 
century. It must have been a splendid abode, filled, 
as it was, with every then known luxury, and crowded 
with honoured guests who helped the gay, pleasure- 
loving pair to waste their days. Banquets and balls, 
shooting and hunting, and all the other amusements of 
the period, were to be found in perfection at La Garaye ; 
and the hunting train of richly dressed guests and 
followers, splendid horses and dogs, is said to have 
been a grand sight to witness as it issued from the 
castle gates, and caracoled under the splendid beech 
trees. The Countess La Garaye, specially famed for 
her grace and beauty of movement, was passionately 
fond of hunting, and a most accomplished horsewoman, 
and she delighted in sharing every pursuit of her beloved 
lord. One day while following the hounds with her 
husband, she was flung violently from her horse ; she 
was carried home insensible, and supposed to be 
mortally injured. Her life was, however, spared, and 
Mrs. Norton tells this part of the story most touchingly: 



176 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

how when sense returns to the sweet Lady of La Garaye 
she hears the "grave physician's" fiat that she will be 

" Crooked and sick for ever." 

" Long on his face her wistful gaze she kept, 

Then dropped her head and wildly moaned and wept, 
Shivering through every limb, as lightning thought 
Smote her with all the endless ruin wrought. 
Never to be a mother ! Never give 
Another life beyond her own to live, 
Never to see her husband bless their child, 
Thinking (dear blessed thought) like him it smiled : 
Never again with Claud to walk or ride, 
Partake his pleasures with a playful pride, 
But cease from all companionship so shared. 
And only have the hours his pity spared. 

And she repeated with a moaning ciy, 

* Better to die, O God ! — 'Twere best to die.' " 

She had lost all beauty, and the grace of movement 
for which she had been so famed could no longer be 
exercised. She was now a sickly, crippled woman, 
sighing and sobbing life away. Her husband gave up 
many of his out-door pursuits to sit beside her sick- 
bed, but all in vain ; it seemed to her that she was de- 
priving him of the joys in which she could no longer 
share, and that soon he would find the time thus spent 
beside her an irksome burden on his pleasures. Try 
as he would, he could not reconcile the beloved sufferer 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 177 

to submit to the blow which had so suddenly 
crushed her existence and left her hanging like a broken 
Hly on its stalk, between life and death. 

The death of a dearly-loved brother who was visiting 
them at Chateau la Garaye threw a yet deeper gloom 
over their saddened life. The Countess could not well 
be more grief-stricken and despairing than she already 
was, but to Count Claude this fresh blow was over- 
whelming. His brother's death had left him indeed 
alone. 

He went to gaze for the last time on the face of 
this beloved friend, and his anguish grew beyond all 
control. The silence of the priest who knelt beside the 
dead man irritated the Count almost to frenzy. " Ah, 
father," he exclaimed, " how happy you are ; you are 
free from all the shackles of earthly love ; you do not 
know the meaning of suffering." 

The priest rose from his knees and looked tenderly 
at the mourner. " You mistake, my son," he said gently ; 
" I love all who suffer, but I submit to God's will, and 
I bend myself resignedly to the blows he deals me, 
whatever they may be, because they are dealt by Him." 

Monsieur de la Garaye was greatly struck. Was 
there then, he asked himself, less misery in submitting 
to than in murmuring against God's will .'' 



178 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Some time after this, tradition says that Claude de 
la Garaye had a vision ; he dreamed that he came home 
one winter's night late from a long day's hunting. The 
ground beneath the beech-trees of the great avenue 
was covered with snow, and the bare branches rattled 
in the keen north wind. All at once the Count saw 
advancing towards him a white horseman surrounded 
with flames, flames too seemed to hover round his 
white steed. Claude reined up his horse and waited till 
the apparition came closer to him. 

" Claude de la Garaye," it said, " if you really wish 
for happiness, you must change your whole life. Give 
up your frivolous pleasures, and spend your abundant 
riches in relieving the poor and afflicted, so shall 
the blessing of God be yours in this world and in the 
next. I, your brother, who died so short a time ago 
in your arms, am sent to give you this warning." 

Claude la Garaye waked from his dream and pon- 
dered his brother's words, and during that night he is said 
to have made the resolution which changed the whole 
course of his life. He told his wife of the warning he 
had received — she was now to a certain extent convales- 
cent, — and, in spite of her weakness, she resolved to go 
with him to Paris, there to gain the scientific knowledge 
necessary for the project they had both determined to 
carry out at La Garaye. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 179 



For three years the Count carefully devoted his 
whole time to the practical study of medicine, surgery, 
and chemistry, and made rapid progress therein, while 
his weak and crippled wife studied ophthalmic surgery 
at the Hotel Dieu. So skilful did she become that 
she was ultimately most successful in performing opera- 
tions for the removal of cataract at the Hospital of La 
Garaye. 

The noble pair began their studies in the year 
17 10, when the Count de la Garaye was thirty-six, and 
at the close of their three years' noviciate they returned 
to La Garaye, and laid the foundations of the large 
range of buildings which still exists on the western side 
of the Chateau. They gathered round them a skilful 
band of doctors, surgeons, and medical students, and 
were soon able to open their hospital to the poor and 
suffering, whom they tended themselves most devotedly. 

The fame of the hospital spread ; patients flocked 
to it from all parts of France. Louis XV. was so 
touched by the generosity of the La Garayes, that he 
sent for the Count and invested him with the Cross of 
the order of St. Lazare, and gave him 75,000 livres. 

It is said that Monsieur de la Garaye would rise 
and attend his patients at any hour of the night. His 
ordinary rule was to rise at half-past four in summer, 



i8o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

in winter a little later, and study in his laboratory- 
till seven, then to join with his patients in farnily prayer ; 
after this he dressed the wounds of his poor people, went 
to hear mass, and then breakfasted. After breakfast 
he tried scientific experiments, visited the hospital at 
eleven, presided at the dinner of his patients, and when 
they had dined he took a frugal meal himself. 

After dinner he talked to his workpeople and 
labourers, or went out shooting. At four o'clock he 
came home and saw his patients. Eight o'clock was 
supper-time, with religious reading. At half-past nine 
every one went to bed, except those who tended the 
sick. 

On Sundays and festivals the Count himself preached 
to his guests, as he called the poor sufferers he watched 
over. 

The Countess seems to have been not only a 
ministering angel among the patients whom she nursed 
devotedly by night as well as by day, but also a saviour 
of many souls whom she brought back to the faith and 
ordinances of their youth. The noble pair were de- 
servedly loved and reverenced by their patients and 
throughout the country round. 

The Hospital of La Garaye was not the Count's 
only good work. During one very severe winter he not 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. i8r 

only sold a great portion of his plate to relieve the 
general distress, but he employed a great number of 
poor people whom the terrible famine that then ravaged 
France had brought to ruin in reclaiming and cultivat- 
ing vast wastes belonging to his estates. He also 
founded at Dinan the Hospital for Incurables which 
still exists, and at Tardu a Convent for Charity School- 
girls. 

In 1720 Marseilles was desolated by the plague, — 
hundreds of people died daily. When the tidings came 
to the ears of Monsieur de La Garaye he at once offered 
his personal services to the Archbishop. But his 
crowning act of self-devotion, and that which should 
make the name of Claude de la Garaye for ever dear to 
Englishmen, happened during the war between France 
and Great Britain in 1747. He had been ready 
enough to take arms, and to arm his tenants and de- 
pendants, at the first hint of foreign invasion ; but when 
he heard that two or three thousand English prisoners 
were shut up in the Castle of Dinan, and that the 
prison was so overcrowded, and the captives so 
neglected, that a malignant fever had broken out, 
Monsieur La Garaye did not shrink from the danger, 
although the fever had destroyed not only many of the 
unhappy English, but the doctors and nuns who tended 



x82 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

them. He came at once to Dinan, and by his skill and 
timely succour saved many lives. The English seem 
to have been much impressed by hii: benevolence. One 
nobleman presented him with six thorough-bred dogs, 
and Queen Anne (the French biographer must mean 
Queen Caroline) sent him two others, each wearing a 
silver collar. 

The Count of La Garaye went on with his work 
till he was eighty years old, and then died sitting in his 
arm-chair — died peacefully as he had lived, without 
apparent suffering. He and his wife both lie buried 
in the little graveyard at Tarda, their graves being 
marked by very simple tombs against the wall of the 
village church. The Count's has this inscription : — 

Cy gitte corps, 

de Messire Claude Toussaints Marot, 

Chevalier, Comte de la Garaye, 

Ddc^d^ le 2 Juillet, en son chateau, 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 183 



CHAPTER IX. 

DOL— A LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER— THE OLD WOMAN'S COW 
— THE HOME OF CHATEAUBRIAND — CHATEAU COMBOURG — 
VITRE. 

If for no other cause, the town of Dol must always 
dwell pleasantly in the minds of the authors of this 
book in connection with a certain huge fig-tree in the 
garden of its Inn of Notre Dame. The weather was 
hot, and the ripe excellent fruit most refreshing ; and 
at going away the kind landlady presented us with a 
dainty basketful packed in glorious leaves, the contents 
of w^hich proved most grateful on the journey. 

But Dol is a quaint and interesting town, and has 
a very fine cathedral, older and in purer style than most 
Breton churches ; and besides it has a special attraction 
to the traveller about to enter Normandy. From the 
summit of Mont Dol, a little way out of the town, can 
be seen through a glass the famous Mont S. Michel. 

Dol seems to form a connecting link between Nor- 
mandy and Brittany. The bridge, with its groups of 
ancient houses, is a very picturesque object ; the water 



i84 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



below is generally gay with knots of quaintly capped 
women — for the caps of Dol are some of the most 
remarkable in Brittany — washing brilliant bunches of 
carrots and turnips in the swiftly flowing water. 






H" 



■"1-=^ 
^ 
\ 





■ «^ 




OLD HOUSES, DOL. 



The legend of St. Christopher goes back to the 
days before this bridge was built. 



" Christopher the strong-shouldered " was in great 
request as a ferryman, and at the time I write of he 
kept the ford of the river, and carried many burdens 
over it. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 185 

One fine day, the legend says, our Blessed Lord 
arrived at the ford with his twelve apostles. Christo- 
pher took first our Lord and then each of his followers, 
one after another, in his gigantic arms, and carried them 
across to the farther bank of the river. 

Our Lord bade Christopher name his reward. 

St. Peter came up and whispered softly in his ear, 
" Ask for Paradise, and you will be happy." 

" Mind your own business," said Christopher in a 
surly tone ; then to our Lord he said reverently, " As 
you offer me a gift, O Lord, I ask that whatsoever I 
wish for may come into my sack." 

Our Lord consented ; but he told Christopher never 
to wish for money, or for anything he did not really 
need. 

Time went on. Christopher kept to his bargain, 
and the sack was only filled with bread, fruit, and 
vegetables, and, be it said in justice to the ferryman, it 
was frequently emptied to give to the poor. But after 
a while Christopher fell into temptation. 

It happened one day that as he was passing along 
the main street of Dol, he stopped before the shop of 
a money-changer, where piles of gold and silver coin 
were arranged in little heaps. 

Now Christopher sinned in gazing at the money, 



i86 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

for it is a step towards covetousness to gaze on that 
which we are forbidden. Eve, you know, looked at 
the apple before she touched it. The Evil One was 
close at hand, and he began to whisper in Christopher's 
ear, " See here, my fine fellow, think how much 
good you may do to others with all this gold and 
silver ; why, you can build houses for the poor, and 
clothe them and feed them besides ; think of that, my 
friend. Now you have only to wish, and the money is 
yours." 

The idea was too tempting to resist ; Christopher 
wished, and lo ! there was the money in his sack. You 
must remember that, though he was good, he was only 
a man after all, he was not even a saint in those days. 

As might have been expected, this first yielding to 
temptation was followed by other yieldings, and though 
he was liberal he did not spend on the poor all the 
money that had come into his sack. 

One day he had eaten a luxurious dinner, and had 
lain down on the grass to rest in the shade. 

Presently who should pass by but the Evil One, who 
began to mock and gibe at Christopher. 

The giant was not of a patient disposition, and 
before long he and the mocking fiend were fighting out 
their dispute ; their strength was so fairly matched that 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 187 

the battle lasted two days without any chance of a 
victory on either side. The thick grass was worn away, 
and the ground dinted by the pressure of their feet, and 
the blows they dealt one another sounded like repeated 
hammer-strokes, and were heard from afar. 

They might indeed be fighting still if a lucky 
thought had not come to Christopher. 

"Ah, cursed ond!" he exclaimed, "in the name 
of the most Holy, get into my sack." 

No sooner said than behold the Evil One is in the 
sack, and Christopher, tying the string round its mouth, 
throws it over his shoulders. 

But now what shall he do with the prisoner ">. 

Going along the road he comes to a smithy where 
a blacksmith and two brawny assistants are beating out 
red-hot iron. 

"Happy thought," says Christopher to himself; to 
the blacksmith he says — 

" See here, neighbour, I carry a dangerous beast in 
this sack, he has done all sorts of mischief ; if you will 
undertake to hammer him as thin as a penny piece, I 
will give you a crown." 

"A bargain," cries the blacksmith, and he and 
Christopher clasp palms upon it. 

The blacksmith and his men hoist the sack on to 



i88 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the anvil, and, spite of the howls and contortions of its 
inmate, they hammer at him all through the night. 

At length, when day begins to break, a feeble voice 
comes from the sack. 

" Christopher, Christopher, I give in, I am beaten ; 
on what terms will you let me out V 

" You must swear to obey me whenever I require 
you to do so, and leave me in peace for evermore 

" I swear," says the feeble voice. 

" Depart," says Christopher, " and may I never more 
behold thee." 

From this time Christopher's whole life changed. 
He gave himself up to good works, and when his 
strength failed him, so that he could no longer perform 
his duty at the ford, he took refuge in a little cell, on 
the ruins of which were built a church dedicated to St. 
Christopher. He lived many years in his cell, given up 
to prayer and penance, his saintly reputation causing 
the hermitage to be the resort of numerous pilgrims. 

Notwithstanding all this, when, after his death, St. 
Christopher presented himself at the gates of Paradise, 
St. Peter, remembering how his advice had been slighted, 
refused Christopher admittance. 

The poor saint went sadly away, hanging his head. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 189 



and, not taking any heed where he trod, he went by 
mistake down the broad steps of hell. 

He went down and down a great many steps, and 
came at last to a door kept by a pleasant-looking youth. 

" Come in, I pray you," said the youth. 

Christopher was stepping across the threshold when 
his old adversary, who stood just within, perceived him. 

"No, no !" he cried, "we will have none of him. I 
know who he is ; turn him out ; he is more than a match 
for me." 

So poor Christopher was forced to go up again, 
and once more he found himself at the gates of 
Paradise. Strains of lovely music came from within, and 
the saint sought more than ever to enter and be with 
the blessed. 

He went close up to the gates. " My Lord Peter," 
he said, " what wondrous music you have inside your 
gates — I pray you of your charity to leave them ajar, so 
that a poor outsider may enjoy these exquisite sounds." 

Saint Peter's tender heart was touched, he opened 
the gate a few inches. Christopher dexterously flings 
his sack inside the gates, and, following it, he seats him- 
self thereon. 

" I am on my own ground now," he says ; " you 
cannot turn me out." 



I90 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



And Saint Christopher has stayed in heaven ever 
since. Surely his repentance has earned him a good 
place there. 

The following is another quaint legend of Dol : — 



Once upon a time St. Peter and St. John were taking a 
journey through Brittany. They visited every house they 
came near, rich as well as poor ; they preached in the 
churches and chapels of the towns they passed 
through, and sometimes they preached in the market- 
place in the presence of all the townsfolk. 

One spring day they climbed a long and steep hill. 
The sun was hot, and they were thirsty, and there was 
not a drop of water to be seen. St. Peter was the 
most sanguine nature of the two. "We shall find a 
house on the top of the hill," he said. 

When they reached the top they saw a farm-house 
sheltered among some trees. 

" Let us go in and ask for some water here," said 
Saint Peter, and in they went. 

A little old woman sat beside the hearthstone, and 
not far off a little child lay sucking a goat. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 191 

" Grandmother," said St. Peter, " will you be so kind 
as to give us a little water?" 

" Yes, surely, good gentlemen," she answered 
readily. " I have plenty of water, good water too, but 
I have nothing else in the world." 

She filled a bowl with water from her pitcher and 
gave it to the saints to drink. 

They drank eagerly, and then they looked at the 
sucking infant. 

" That is not your child, grandmother," said St. Peter. 

" No, surely not, but I love him as though he were 
my own. My daughter died in giving him birth, and 
I have to take care of him." 

"Has he a father.?" 

" Oh yes, he has a father who goes out to work 
every day at a gentleman's house not far off; he gets 
his food and eight sous a day, and that is all we have 
to live on. When my husband was alive things were 
different ; he was a farmer, and we had cows and pigs, 
but all are gone now." 

" Suppose 3'ou had a cow now," said St. Peter. 

" Ah ! indeed, good gentleman, suppose we had, we 
should be happy enough. Though we have no longer 
any land I could take the cow out and let it feed along 
the roads, and we should have milk and butter to sell on 



192 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

market day. But what is the use of supposing ; I shall 
never have a cow again." 

"Never you mind, grandmother, lend me your stick 
a minute," said St. Peter. 

St. Peter took the old woman's stick and struck a 
blow on the broad hearthstone, and behold, there was a 
beautiful strawberry cow with udders full of milk. 

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the old woman, "how- 
ever did that cow get here }'' 

"By the grace of God, grandmother ; it is for you." 

" May the blessing of God rest on you, good 
gentlemen. I will pray for you night and day." 

" God be with you," said the saints ; and they went 
on their way, leaving the old woman lost in wonder 
as she gazed at her cow. 

The cow gently lowed. 

"What a fine creature!" she said, "and how full 
she is of milk. I must milk her. But where can she 
have come from } Just from hitting a stick on the 
hearth-stone ; nothing can be easier than that. Well, 
here is my stick, and there's the hearth-stone. Ah, if 
I had only just such another cow ! I wonder if I could 
bring one by just hitting my stick on the stone." 

No sooner said than done, and behold out sprang 
an enormous wolf, which fastened on the cow and 
killed her. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 193 

Out ran the old woman — she hurried as fast as her 
legs would carry her after the two saints. 

" Gentlemen ! gentlemen ! " she cried, quite out of 
breath. As the saints had walked slowly on account 
of the heat they had not got very far ; they heard her 
calling and waited till she came up. 

"Whatever has happened, grandmother ?" said St. 
Peter. 

" Alas, gentlemen, my cow, my cow ! You had 
hardly left me when in came a huge wolf and sprang 
upon my beautiful strawberry cow." 

"But what had you done first, good mother?" said 
St. John very gently. 

" I — I hit my stick on the hearth-stone," said the 
old woman, hanging her head. 

" The wolf came because you summoned it," said 
St. Peter gravely. " Go back to your house, and you 
will find your cow safe and sound. But, grandmother, 
be wiser in future, and be content with what God sends 
you. 

Back went the old woman to her house, and found 
her cow safe and well, lowing softly for she wanted to 
be milked ; and then the dame understood that God's 
saints had visited her. 



194 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



Cljateau Com&ourg:^ 

A VERY short railway journey from Dol brought us to 
the small but picturesque town of Combourg. It has 
an old-world aspect, as the greater part of the houses 
are of the sixteenth century. 

But the most interesting building there is the 
castle, in which Chateaubriand, the famous author, 
spent some of his boyhood — the castle still belongs to 
his family — and his chamber is preserved in the state 
it was in when he lived at Combourg. It is in one of 
the towers, and hither has been brought the simple 
furniture which was in his room at Paris during the 
latter part of his life. A small iron bedstead, an 
ordinary wooden table, an iron inkstand, an iron cruci- 
fix, and an iron holy water stoup. Chateaubriand gives 
a too highly-coloured picture of his home in his 
Memoires. He calls it an immense castle, which would 
accommodate with ease lOO knights and their attend- 
ants ; a third of this number would be more like the 
truth. 

The castle, dating from the fifteenth century, is a 
square building flanked by four large machicolated 
towers ; that at the north-east angle is higher than the 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 195 

others (Chateaubriand called it " tour de Maure"), and 
it appears to belong to the fourteenth century. 

The castle, with its many towers, with their conical 
roofs rising above the surrounding trees and ancient 
houses, is very picturesque. Chateau Combourg sug- 
gested to the poet the lines beginning — 

" Combien j'ai douce souvenance 
Du joli lieu de ma naissance." 

Chateaubriand was really born in St. Malo, Rue des 
Juifs, in the house which is now the Hotel de France. 
From the window of the room the tomb of the 
illustrious author can be seen standing alone on the 
islet called Grand Bey. It was his own desire to be 
buried in that lonely spot. The position of the tomb, 
on the rocky verge of the islet overlooking the vast 
expanse of ocean, is very impressive. 

We were sorry to reach Vitre, for it was the last 
interesting town in Brittany, and we felt that our holiday 
was over. It is a wonderfully old-world town. Modern 
improvements, which will doubtless soon set in in a 
flood, are only beginning there. Its castle, its feudal 
ramparts flanked by towers, its old houses which seem 
to totter on their supporting pillars — have a truly 
mediaeval air. There is something inexpressibly 



196 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



pathetic about its aspect — pathetic and grotesque also, 
for it looks full of strange stories — moss and lichen 
thrive on its roofs and stonework ; it seems to be per- 
petually moaning over its past. Though it is nearer 




OLD SHOPS, VITRE. 



France than the utterly French city of Rennes, Vitre 
is a true type of an old Breton town. Its streets are 
narrow and twisting, and up and down, and badly 
paved also ; the houses are some of wood, with often 
quaintly carved beams, and some of stone ; in many 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 197 



of them the upper story projects considerably, and is 
supported on oaken pillars covered with slate. The 
Rue Poterie is the quaintest and strangest of these 
streets. Here one can go back to the middle ages ; 
one fancies even that the open shops, shown in the 
illustration, are scarcely changed from what they were 
in the sixteenth century, or in the days of Madame 
de Sevigne. The chief inn in the town is called 
Hotel de Sevigne, and here you see a suite of rooms 
which Madame de Sevigne is said to have occupied ; 
on the tiles of the flooring are various crests, which it 
seems she had a fancy for collecting. In one of these 
rooms is a secret sliding panel, with a recess behind it ; 
here one fancies she may have kept secret papers, or 
the letters of Pauline. 

The castle is equally picturesque and interesting. 
It was founded about the end of the eleventh century, 
and rebuilt in the fourteenth and fifteenth ; the walls 
are covered with slate. Standing on a hill it com- 
mands the surrounding country, and must have been 
a strong fortress. The initals of Guyonne, Countess of 
Laval and Marquise de Nesle, occur frequently here, 
in the monogram, G. L. N., on the entablature of the 
charming little tourelle which she built here in I 5 60; 
on each side are shields bearing the arms of France 



198 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

and of Laval, with the motto, " Post tenebras spero 
lucem." She was a Huguenot, and the inscription "is 
supposed to be in allusion to the darkness of the old 
religion as compared with the faith of the Reformers." 

There is a very quaintly sculptured stone pulpit 
outside the church of Notre Dame ; on this grotesque 
figures of demons express, by face and gesture, great 
dislike to the doctrines preached above them. 

Les Rochers, the charming country-house from 
which so many of Madame de Sevigne's letters are 
dated, is within an easy drive of Vitre. Madame de 
Sevigne's bedroom has been left untouched, there is 
her bed of red and white silk falling to pieces with 
age, and there is the escritoire on which her delight- 
ful letters were written, — her account-books still lie 
on it. Outside the drawing-room windows is a long 
range of orange trees in tubs, and two of these are said 
to have been planted by Madame de Sevigne herself. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 199 



CHAPTER X. 

AVRANCHES— A BRACE OF CHARACTERS— THE STORY OF THE 
"PILGRIMAGE TO THE MOUNT." 

We had been spending some delightful weeks in Nor- 
mandy, beginning at Etretat, and then journeying along 
the sea-board, with its groups of watering-places, so 
dear in August to tired Parisians, till we reached quiet 
primitive Arromanches. We made a pleasant halt in 
this newly built village, with its old world inhabitants 
— its magnificent sun-flowers making a foreground with 
their immense bronze disks, to the masts and rigging of 
the fishing-boats drawn up high and dry on the beach, 
and the belt of blue sea beyond ; but we could not 
linger long ; we were impatient to reach the real bourne 
of our journey — the wonderful Mont St. Michel. So 
on we went from Bayeux, through lofty St. Lo, Cou- 
tances, with its grand cathedral and charming gardens, 
beautiful, dirty, and unsavoury Granville, till we found 
ourselves at last at pretty, bright, sunshiny Avranches, so 
exquisite in its position and surroundings and the view it 
commands, and vet in itself so tame and uninteresting. 



200 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



We found the sparkling clean little place full of 
bustle ; all the inns were crammed, and when we made 
inquiry we learned that this concourse of visitors had 
been caused "by the pilgrimage. 

" What pilgrimage ? " we asked our voluble femme- 
de-chambre, who, having once been a beauty, expected 
a good deal of notice still from those she waited on. 

"Comment!" she exclaimed, "is it possible that 
Madame does not know of the great pilgrimage to 
Mont S. Michel — pilgrims come to it from all parts ; 
what do I know — from Jersey, Guernsey also — from 
England perhaps/' she added, " if," with a sly look, 
" there are any good Catholics in Madame's country." 

We asked how long the pilgrimage would last. 

" Oh, that depends ; three or four days if all the 
pilgrims arrive in that time, but to-morrow is the 
grand day ; ah, that will be a sight to see ; the Bishop of 
Coutances himself will say a mass, and he will performi 
the benediction service in the crypt of the Gros Piliers : 
Madame knows that the black Virgin is there, and 
that is why it is called the Chapel of Notre Dame- 
sous-terre. Ah !" she put both hands suddenly to her 
ears, and then extending her arms shook her fingers, "do 
but hear the bells, Madame. Ah, Mon Dieu ! I must 
run, if Madame will have the goodness to excuse me." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 201 

This news put us into a pleasant state of excite- 
ment ; we should have preferred to see the Mount in 
its weird lonely grandeur, still there was something 
very fitting in the idea of a pilgrimage to Mont S. 
Michel, and we determined to go there to-morrow. 

We went to order a carriage in the town, but the 
driver was out, and we were left in doubt, for it seemed 
that every vehicle and every horse in Avranches was 
going on pilgrimage next day. 

We came in and dined at our comfortable, but not 
too liberal, table d'hote, and then mounted to the bed- 
room at the tip-top of the house, which our friend 
Rosalie, the coquettish and communicative femme-de- 
chambre, told us we were very lucky to get. 

We had hardly seated ourselves when a knock 
came at the door, and a strange man's voice inquired 
if Monsieur and Madame les Anglais lived here. 

This was our driver, a little crooked fellow with a 
most comical face ; he seemed to be laughing at himself; 
he began by asking just half as much again as he 
meant to take, but we shook our heads ; he then 
grumbled extremely at having to carry two people 
with one horse, while we assured him we could not 
think of paying the price he asked for two. 

At last he stood still and scratched his head for 



202 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

some seconds without speaking — then he shrugged his 
shoulders and exhibited the palms of both hands. 

" So be it," he said ; " I will take Monsieur's price. 
The pilgrimage is like everything else — it is not what 
it was at first — why, the last pilgrimage to Mont St. 
Michel, ah, Mon Dieu !" — up went his shoulders again 
— " that, if you please, was something like. At Pon- 
torson, there were not beds enough to lie on ; the pilgrims 
slept in sheds — on pavements — anywhere. I drove a 
cart full of pilgrims across the sands ; ah, yes ! 1 
remember there was a story told of one of them next 
day, poor soul." 

" Can you tell us the story V 

He shrugged his shoulders at our eagerness, and 
shook his head. 

" I knew it, bah !" — he began to think, screwing up 
his little eyes, and making his comic face so absurd that 
we could scarcely keep serious. 

" I knew it." he repeated — then he slapped his leg 
joyfully. " Ma foi, my wife knows every word of it, — 
she never forgets a story, — and if Madame likes I will 
go home and listen, and then to-morrow I shall be able 
to tell it as glibly as any old chatterer in the country." 

And next day he certainly whiled away part of 
the long drive from Avranches by telling us the story 
of the " Pilgrimage to the Mount." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 203 

^ ^Bilgcimage to tje Sl^ounu 
Part I. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

It is Michaelmas, and the streets of a gray old cathe- 
dral city in France are busy with the tread of feet and 
the buzz of voices as the inhabitants take their way to 
High Mass — some to the cathedral and some to the 
numerous old churches of the town. Overhead the 
weather is fine ; there are only a few snowy wool-like 
clouds, but these are so bright, and they keep their 
places so firmly on the blue vault above, that there is 
no fear of rain. A crisp wind scatters the dust briskly 
along the Boulevards, and whirls the yellow leaves off as 
if the year were a month older. There is a sighing 
movement, too, every now and then, among these trees, 
which seems to tell that the leaves are conscious that 
the best part of their life is spent, that old age, with 
feeble heart-beats and sapless limbs, is near, and death 
treading on its heels. 

The Boulevard will be full enough this afternoon, 
but no one stays there now. Every one is going to 
Mass, though it is yet early ; but to get a seat in the 
cathedral one must be early to-day, for Monseigneur 



204 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



the Archbishop is going to preach ; so the little square 
outside the splendid hoary building is full of towns- 
people. 




I'ORCH OF CATHEDRAL, CHARTRES. 



The small houses which face the cathedral are very- 
near it — so near it that they are always in a cool grey 
shadow. The door of one of the smallest of these 
houses stands open, and shows inside a dark narrow 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, .205 

passage, with a black door on one side, and a staircase 
beyond. A small slender woman stands at the foot of 
the staircase ; she has a young slight figure, and she is 
dressed with much simplicity and neatness. Just now 
her snowy capped head is thrown back on her shoulders, 
as she stands calling to some one overhead : 

" Eustache, my child, come quickly, or you will be 
too late." 

" I come, my mother," is answered in such a sweet 
silver treble that it takes one by surprise, — a surprise 
which anticipates the sweet boyish face of the golden- 
haired child who comes carefully downstairs, not taking 
half a flight at a jump, as would seem better suited to 
his age, but with an enforced quietude that does not 
belong to his bright eyes and expressive features. He 
holds up one slight finger at his mother, and makes a 
slight sound with his mouth ; then he takes her hand 
and draws her quietly to the entrance door. She has 
so sweet a face, but yet she is not like her child, not 
even when she smiles down into his dark eyes. His 
face is square both at brow and chin, and one feels by 
instinct that though those dark eyes may always be 
sweet in expression, yet there is a promise of intellect 
in them which will make him yet more unlike his 
mother ; for hers is a flower-like face, a delicate skin 



2o6 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

with a tinge of pink colour, yet touched with the soft 
melancholy of a Madonna — oval in its outline, with 
small and regular, not insignificant, features, and eyes 
of the palest blue ; these eyes glisten, and the glow 
blooms brightly on her cheeks as she listens to her boy. 

He speaks eagerly now that he has reached the 
outside door. 

" Never fear, little mother," — he pats her hand 
fondly between both his own ; " I shall be as punctual 
as the rest. I said ' Hush just now because of Julie ; 
— but indeed she is better to-day ; and when I told her 
I had warmed the soup myself, she said it was twice as 
good, and now she is sleepy, mother ; and when I pat 
her shoulder softly, she shuts her eyes and opens her 
mouth, — yes, yes " — he screws up his own rosy mouth 
importantly — "Julie will sleep and 9»he will get well. 
AUons, I must go to church :" then stopping suddenly, 
he looks up with a grave face : " Mother," he says, 
" how enormous is the mouth of Julie !" 

A little later his mother watches him as he walks 
in procession, the fairest of the choir children, his lovely 
treble notes ringing through the lofty aisles of the 
cathedral. He does not see her as she kneels behind 
one of the massive piers, and gazes with tenderest love 
on his rapt face while he sings. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 207 

How fervently she prays for her Eustache, — he has 
elected to become a doctor ; for, child as he is, he so 
loves to tend the sick, and his mother prays that the 
studies he will have to follow if he adopts this voca- 
tion may not harden his heart. She prays, too, — and 
all unconsciously tears stream over her sweet face — 
that he may never lose his love and reverence for holy 
things and holy places, a love which she has taught him 
by word and deed. " Oh my God," she prays, " spare 
me such bitter pain as this." 

For to Marie Texier's simplicity it seems that the 
worst trial she could be called on to suffer would be to 
see her Eustache's love and faith grow cold, 

" If he forgot to worship, it would be worse than 
losing Jean Baptiste over again," she thinks. Jean 
Baptiste was the tenderly-loved husband of her youth, 
who died when Eustache was but five years old, so she 
prays with all her strength for this dearly-loved child. 

But service is over now, and she hurries home to 
get his meal ready for Eustache. 

She has quite a little feast for him to-day. Soup 
and some mussels, pieds de cochon and radishes, 
daintily arranged on a fine white tablecloth. 

Eustache soon comes out of church, and flies across 
the street, his dark eyes glowing with delight. 



208 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

He kisses his mother, and then says grace reve- 
rently, and sits down and eats his soup in hungry 
silence, but when he gets to his second mussel he 
pauses, and looks anxiously across the table. 

" Mother, what do you think ? Father Clery has 
said that my voice is a good one." 

Madame Texier smiles. 

" Yes, yes, my child ; your voice is true and sweet, 
but," she adds humbly, " I am thankful that the good 
father should think so." 

Eustache gives his m.other a long yearning look, 
and then he goes on eating his mussels. 

His young mind is burdened with a new idea, and 
it is too large a one for him to carry alone. He would 
share it with Madame le Camac upstairs if it were 
less important, but it seems to him a kind of treason 
against his sweet mother to confide it to other ears 
than hers. And yet, young as he is, he knows some- 
thing of the love his mother has for him, and he feels 
that this new idea will somehow prove distasteful tQ 
her ; but he knows and feels these things dimly, he has 
only instinct to guide him, poor little bright-haired 
Eustache. 

But his mother is watching him ; her love is too all- 
absorbing not to be alive to the slightest change in her 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 209 

darling. Eustache is not a chattering child, but he is 
always full of life, and especially on a holiday; he has 
always a plan for the happiest way of spending it 

Marie Texier watches him as he goes on eating 
in silence, and as he draws his thick dark eyebrows 
together and looks down in his plate, she grows more 
and more sure that something troubles her darling. 

She is too reserved and timid to ask him at once 
what ails him ; the question would come more easily 
if Eustache were near her, and she could put her arm 
round him and draw his fair head close to hers ; but 
the table is between them, and the boy does not look 
at her. 

All at once he lifts his head. He has not noticed 
his mother's unusual silence, he has been far too 
deeply occupied with his own reverie. • 

" Mother," he says abruptly, " Is your heart set on 
making me a doctor .''" He gives a sigh of relief at this 
beginning. 

Marie Texier's soft eyes open with surprise. 

''It is not I," she says gently, ''who chose that 

state of life for you — you said you should like it, my 

child — if you wish for a quieter life perhaps a post 

may be found for you in the library." 

Madame Texier's husband had been one of the 

P 



2 TO PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

public librarians, and to her this was the best of all 
employments. 

Eustache shakes his head, he is a little vexed with 
his mother, it seems to him that she ought to be able 
to guess his wishes. 

At last he bursts out abruptly. 

" Father Clery says my voice is a great gift, and 
he says a gift should be for God's service." 

Madame Texier looks puzzled. 

" Your voice is good now, my child ; but who 
knows. Voices change, and sometimes never come back. 
Do you mean that Father Clery wishes you, when you 
are old enough, to become one of the singers of the 
cathedral .'' Well, then, you may be a singer, and you 
may earn your living some other way too, my darling." 

Eustache shakes his head. 

' No, no, little mother, I would not be one of the 
singers if I could, they — they are not good ; they are 
dirty, rough, and noisy ; but never mind them little 
mother ; Father Clery means something else." 

Marie Texier gives a little start ; she understands 
now, and she turns so pale, that if Eustache were less 
intent on his idea he would think she was ill. As it 
is, he feels dimly that what he has to say must give 
her pain, and he gets off his chair and comes and 
stands beside her. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 211 



"Well, little mother," he says rather impatiently, 
"you do not ask any questions ?" 

" I am listening," and she puts her hand softly to 
her heart as if she felt some pain there. 

But Eustache has got too eager to notice anything. 

" Father Clery says," he speaks very earnestly, 
" that we should give our lives up to God's service ; 
and he said just now, 'You can give a great gift to 
Him, Eustache ;' and I said, 'What, Father ?' and he said, 
'You can give your voice;* and then he said, — listen 
little mother ;" for Marie covers her white face with 
one trembling hand. "'You should go to the seminary, 
Eustache, and when you are made a priest, you can 
come back here again and be close to your mother,' so 
you see, darling mother, you could listen to me every 
day." 

But Marie does not hear the last words ; she feels 
a sudden spasm of pain, and then she falls back so 
white and rigid that Eustache is terrified out of his 
self-absorption. 

"Julie," he cries in terror, "Julie, come quickly," — 
but no one comes ; and while he stands panic-stricken 
gazing at the blanched face and lifeless attitude, he 
remembers that Julie le Camac lies ill in bed upstairs. 

And then the child's self-reliant nature asserts 



212 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

itself. He dares not move his mother, for he knows 
her weight would overbalance him ; but he snatches up 
a glass of water and sprinkles some in her face ; and 
then he runs into the print-shop next door and asks 
Monsieur Sanson, the pompous printseller, to go quickly 
for the doctor. 

"My mother is very ill, Monsieur Sanson," he says 
gravely, " and you will do anything for my mother, 
will you not, neighbour?" 

"Yes, yes, my child, I fly — tell your dear mother 
I am gone." 

And Monsieur Sanson, who has an ardent wish to 
become the stepfather of Eustache, runs off, as fast as 
his dignity will suffer him, to do the boy's bidding, 
while Eustache goes back to his mother. 



Part II. 
madame le camac. 

The cathedral clock has just struck. One — Two — Three 
—Four, sound loud and deep in the afternoon stillness ; 
loud and deep enough, one would think, to wake every 
sleeper in the town — for surely the town itself has 
gone to sleep in the intensity of this July sunshine. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 213 

There is not a sound in the great deserted market- 
place. The three inns there show no signs of life, they 
keep a mysterious stillness behind their green wooden 
blinds. 

There comes presently, at a leisurely pace, across 
the grass-grown stones of the Place a tall stout priest, 
his black robes swinging as he walks along. 

His face is broad and kindly, red enough just now 
under the blazing sunshine ; for the big blue umbrella 
he carries is of too coarse a stuff to afford effectual 
shelter, the light comes through it and purples his hot- 
cheeks and broad good-tempered nose. 

When he reaches the farther side of the great open 
space he gives a sigh of relief, and turning to the right 
finds his way up two or three narrow streets to the 
quiet precincts of the cathedral. 

The stately pile is built on the summit of a steep 
hill, and its spires look down on the valley of the river, 
and over the monotonous far-stretching plain beyond. 

The gray magnificence of architecture and sculp- 
tured stone and painted glass is closely girt with 
houses, so that it is difficult to get far enough away to 
observe it as a whole. But Father Clery is too well 
acquainted with the beautiful green gray pile to stand 
considering the relative excellences of the spires, or the 



214 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

grandeur of the colossal porches, and the perfect carv 
ing of some of the eighteen hundred statues which adorn 
the building. 

He stops before one of the small houses facing the 
church, and knocks at the low door. 

The door remains closed, but Father Clery is not 
impatient ; the deep cool shadow is delightful, for these 
small houses are so close to the cathedral that the sun 
never reaches the green paving-stones. It is pleasant to 
stand and wipe his hot face with a huge orange pocket- 
handkerchief — the only bit of colour besides his own 
face and hands in the old gray close. 

The door is opening now, and a little slender 
woman stands curtseying to Father Clery. She is very 
small and frail-looking, with a delicate pearl-like face, 
that tells of faded beauty and of much present sweetness. 
Her eyes have been blue — they are pale and clear now 
— and the oval face is narrow, and the rounded chin is 
much more pointed than it was when we saw her years 
ago, but much beauty lingers still in the fine clear skin 
and the small expressive mouth, and above all in the 
sweet trustful expression that wins hearts at once to 
Marie Texier. That expression glows now in the 
bright smile with which she greets her visitor. 

" Well, my good friend," he says, " and how are 



FROM NORM AND Y AND BRITTANY. 215 

you ? better — ah, that's right ; now having got better, 
you must keep better — no more fainting-fits — we can't 
have those, you know;" he smiles, but Marie looks 
sorrowful. 

" I am very sorry, Father, but I did not know what 
I did. I was saying my rosary — -kneeling in my 
place — and then on a sudden comes a mist, and then I 
find myself in the porch, and Madame le Camac throws 
water in my face " — but a look of shame reddens her 
face — " pardon me. Father, I keep you standing while I 
chatter about myself." 

The priest smiles. 

" It is not often 3/ou speak of yourself. I came 
to-day to bring you news of our boy" — in an instant 
her eyes have grown dark as the pupils dilate with 
expectation — " He is settled now," the priest goes on, 
" he is going to Mont St Michel in Normandy as soon 
as there is a vacancy in the community." 

The little frail woman grows white in an instant. 

" Mont St. Michel, Father. Is it not a prison for 
rogues and vagabonds, a place cut ofT from life, far away 
by the sea V her eyes fix wistfully on the priest. 

He shrugs his shoulders. 

" Of course," he speaks half to himself, '' how 
should you know any better ; a good Catholic like you 



210 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

does not read the newspapers ;" then smiling down 
into her anxious eyes — " the prison, my daughter, was 
emptied som6 years ago ; the prisoners were set free, 
and the Bishop of Coutances has established a com- 
munity of priests in the desecrated monastery. I hear 
that much has already been done to restore and beautify 
the church. It is a wonderful place,'* he says reverently, 
"founded by the holy Archangel himself, as you may 
read in the sacred legend." 

" Yes, Father," but Madame Texier sighs. " Is it 
more than a hundred kilometres away V 

"Bah! it is more likely four hundred kilometres 
away, Marie; but courage, my daughter," for her eyelids 
droop, and he sees the lashes quiver as if she strove to 
keep back tears. 

" The railway goes as far as Pontorson now, and 
Pontorson is only a short journey from the Mount — a 
walk over the sands at low tide. We shall see Eustache 
here one of these fine days, and he will have stories 
enough to tell you of the wonders of the Mount. 
There's no such place in the whole world, Marie ; a 
rock-convent — rock within and rock without ! why, in 
the very bowels of the hard stone there is a chapel with 
a statue of our Lady as black as the blessed Image 
yonder," he looks over his shoulder at the cathedral. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 217 



'' Well, well, take care of yourself, and remember, my 
daughter, that it is an honour to belong to such a 
wondrous place as Mont St. Michel. Good-day." 

He nodded, and then bustled on till he turned 
out of sight in the direction of the archbishop's palace. 

Madame Texier stood looking after him. She had 
not yet recovered from the shock of his tidings, and she 
was, for the time, unconscious of time and place ; pre- 
sently she sighed heavily, and went back into her neat 
room. The pale green panelled walls were very bare ; 
but on one side of the mirror over the fireplace was the 
photograph of a man of middle age, on the other that 
of a youth of eighteen, so alike that they might have 
passed for portraits of the same person — there was in 
both the same firm mouth, and the same strength and 
earnestness of expression. The older portrait repre- 
sented Madame Texier's husband, and the youth was 
her son, the priest Eustache. 

Marie Texier and her husband had loved one 
another with that true love which death does not 
end. When her husband died she was still young and 
pretty, and had a little competence, enough to spare 
her the need of working for others, and more than one 
of her fellow-townsmen had urged her to take a second 
husband. The printseller, Mr. Sanson, had been very 



2i8 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

importunate ; but they all got the same answer, "Jean 
Baptiste has gone from our sight — yes — but he is not 
dead to me ; how could I have two husbands ?" 

She was resigned to the loss of this dear friend and 
companion, but she had never been able to resign 
herself to one act of her life. She could never tell 
how she had brought herself to consent that Eustache 
should enter the priesthood and leave her thus desolate. 

" Mother/' the boy said, "I will come back one day ; 
I will say masses in the cathedral ; I shall be close at 
hand to give you the last offices." And in the fervour 
caught from his young devout earnestness Marie had 
felt capable of any sacrifice ; the parting would not be 
for long, and then afterwards there would be Eustache 
always close by — a guide and counsellor as well as a 
son. It might be that the reverence and clinging trust 
she had had for her husband's judgment had transferred 
themselves to Eustache as he grew each day more and 
more like his dead father. 

And now she sits down in her wooden chair, and 
thinks how Quixotic and unreal all this seems ; oh, 
how lonely life is ! and how far distant this island 
convent ! Instinctively she puts her slender hand over 
her eyes, and finds it wet with tears. 

Marie Texier draws her hand away as if a wasp 
had stung it. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 219 

" Holy Virgin, what am I doing ? repenting my 
offering, grudging thee the gift I gave ? No, I do not 
grudge my boy — my Eustache," and at the name come 
thronging memories of a rosy baby, of a wee toddler 
clinging to her skirts, of a bright-eyed acolyte singing 
with silver treble notes in the choir of the grand old 
cathedral, last of the pious thoughtful student who, 
till he went to Bon Secours, used to come over from 
x^aris to spend his holidays with her. Her heart swells 
painfully, and tears brim over and fall on the hands 
that lie clasped in her lap. 

She looks up and smiles, " It is not wrong," she 
says, "so long as I do not murmur. God permits 
these tears, or why did He put it in my heart to love 
my boy so dearly V and again her tears fall plentifully. 

There is a heavy step on the stairs ; Madame 
Texier rises and goes to a tall bureau which faces the 
front window. She takes a pocket handkerchief from 
one of the drawers and wipes her eyes hastily, for the 
footsteps have reached the lowest stair, and the handle 
of the door is turning. 

There comes in a broad bulky woman garbed in a 
succession of dark fully plaited woollen skirts, that 
make her look nearly as broad as she is high. 
Across a loosely-fitting calico body she wears a brown 



220 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

shawl, its two ends fastened at the back of her waist. 
Her cap has nothing distinctive about it; it is much 
like that of Madame Texier, the cap so frequently 
seen in France on the head of a middle-aged woman of 
the shopkeeping class — muslin with a close full border 
round her face, fastened beneath the chin by strings 
of purple ribbon. But the face within the cap-border ! 
that indeed is quite another sort of face from Marie 
Texier's. Large and square, and coarse and dark ; 
the nose is square - topped and projects, so that it 
looks like a right angle of flesh set in the midst of 
this unlovely countenance. The mouth is enor- 
mously wide and lipless, but there are good strong 
yellow teeth within it. No vestige of hair shows 
below the cap, though there is enough on the broad 
chin to call for a razor ; the eyebrows are only faintly 
indicated, but the eyes though small, are dark and full 
of kindness. And yet when Julie le Camac smiles you 
forget her ugliness, you only say to yourself, " Here is a 
woman with a heart in her bosom." 

She stands an instant in the open doorway, taking 
in the meaning of Marie Texier's attitude ; then she 
turns her eyes slowly and heavily to tlie portrait of 
Jean Baptiste Texier, and shaking her head, her mouth 
seems to fall open, so listless and inactive is its ex- 
pression. 



FROM NORM AND V AND BRITTANY. 221 

*' Holy Virgin," she says, "has she then gone back 
to weeping ?" JuHe's shoulders move uneasily. "She 
who has taught me by her example that I may not 
weep ; no, it is not that either." Her eyes .nove 
across to the likeness of Eustache. 

Marie Texier has taken her hands from her face, 
she turns round and tries to smile at her visitor. 

Julie shakes her shoulders in a heavy ungainly 
fashion, more that of an elephant than of a woman. 

"If you need your room, Marie, you should speak, 
I never shrink from hearing a plain truth ;" there is 
a blundering jocularity in the words, which tells that 
they do not convey Julie's real meaning. 

Madame Texier gazes at her friend with wondering 
open eyes, she is still too much pre-occupied to look 
below the surface. 

"I need your room.'' who says so .^" At this, 
Julie puts first one short broad-fingered hand to her 
waist, then the other, and bursts into a loud laugh. 

" Ma foi, Marie, you are a daisy still ; you will 
always be one my poor angel ; well, I won't laugh, 
because you are not happy ; but if Julie can no longer 
comfort and help you, then believe me, in all sincerity, 
it is better for you, my friend, to live with some one 
who can give you better help, and I have told you 



222 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

often you may well find a score better than such as I 
am." 

There is no hidden meaning in the words. 
Julie's eyes are full of humble tender love as she 
looks at her frail little friend. 

Madame Texier smiles. "You are very good, 
neighbour, but you cannot help me to-day. I have 
heard news that weighs heavily. Eustache is not 
coming here — he is going farther even than Bon Secours 
— he is going to Mont St. Michel ; you have heard of 
the place have you not V 

Julie stands considering, then a smile breaks slowly 
over the broad heavy face. 

" Yes, I know it ; it is in a picture in the shop of 
Mr. Sanson next door, but it is only a rock, with 
a church on the top, and the sea all around. Eustache 
cannot live there, it is impossible." 

" Yes ! " and the mother tells Father Clery's news. 

" And he told you all out at once — you who have 
been ill!" her shoulders touch her ears in scorn, but 
she refrains from outward blame of the priest. 

" Well," she says, when she has listened to the 
end, " you are not to fret by yourself, Marie Texier ; 
when you feel tears coming you will come to the stair- 
foot, and you will say, ' Hola there, Julie, I want to 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 223 

cry ; come down and help me to cry ' — why," a look of 
surprise broadens over her face, " she is laughing at 
me ; was there ever such a rainbow of a woman ? I 
wager she will come, if I ask her, and help fresh stuff 
my mattress ; it is hard to do alone." 

Madame Texier smiles, and the two friends go 
upstairs together. 

Part III. 

THE PILGRIMAGE. 

There is a flutter of bustle and excitement over the 
gray, sleepy, old town, that seems to transform it. The 
steep streets, winding up and down the side of the hill 
— so narrow that the quaint gabled top-stories almost 
touch their opposite neighbours as they overhang the 
lower part of the ancient stone houses, — are thronged 
with people all hurrying in one direction, and treading 
down the grass which shows here and there among the 
irregular round paving-stones. Follow these hurrying 
folks and you will come to the pleasant tree-shaded 
Boulevard on the western side of the town ; the Boule- 
vard which circles the old quarter of the city, and divides 
it and its picturesque moss-grown irregularities from the 
modern town, in comparison so clean, so light, and so dull. 



224 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Very near the pleasant tree-shaded promenade, so 
dear to the town dwellers on Sundays and fete-days, is 
the railway station, and as you get nearer the descent 
leading to this you notice that many of the hurrying 
men. v/omen, and children of the throng in which you 
find yourself carry a bundle or parcel, and in some 
cases a more ambitious show of luggage in the shape of 
basket and bag. Some of the old people are clearly 
not travellers, their hands are empty, except that many 
of them help their hobbling steps along with a stout 
stick ; the faces of all, whether young or old, are full of 
a pleasant excitement, and the buzz of tongues increases 
as the groups cross the Boulevard and go down hill 
to the railway station. 

More than half the number, and these are chiefly 
women, wear on their shoulders — pinned to the jacket or 
shawl — a cross of scarlet cloth. 

Father Clery stands at the station gate and wel- 
comes his fellow-travellers as they arrive and pass in 
one by one. He is to take charge of the Pilgrimage 
which has been preached for some weeks past at the 
cathedral and the various churches. His face is full of 
kindly sympathy with all, and there is a sparkle of 
eagerness in his eyes, but a glisten comes into them, 
and his smile is heartier yet, as two women, one small 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 225 

and slender, and one as broad as she is long, come arm 
and arm down the hill. Madame Texier's delicate face 
has a rare glow of pleasure on it, and Madame le Camac's 
dark eyes sparkle, but neither one or other wears the red 
cross, and the priest smiles when he remarks its absence. 

" Good-day," he says heartily, " you are welcome, 
my daughters. Ah ! that is right, Julie, you carry the 
basket, I see ; the strong must help the weak in this work- 
a-day world ; but why have you not put on the badge, 
my friends } I cannot send in your names as pilgrims 
without the badge ; to all intents and purposes you are 
pilgrims, and yet you will not reap the benefit our 
Holy Father offers to those who go on Pilgrimage to 
the Mount. What say you, Marie 1 even now it is not 
too late ; Antoine " — he nods his head towards the 
young deacon who stands near him — " has plenty of 
crosses in his bag." 

Madame Texier curtseys, but she shakes her head. 

" I could not feel I was honest," she raises her clear 
pale eyes to the cure s Face, " for, Father, I had never 
thought of going to the Mount if my Eustache had 
stayed at Bon Secours. I am not going on Pilgrimage ; 
I am going to see my boy — once more, only once more, 
Father, and then I will try to be content." 

There was a quiver in her voice that seemed to 

Q 



226 ; PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

trouble Father Clery, he blew his nose rather noisily 
before he spoke again. 

" Well, and you, Julie," he said, " why should not 
you wear the cross ? you, at any rate, have no son at 
Mont St. Michel ; though, as to that," he turned to 
Madame Texier, " I say to you as I said before, that 
chances are against you. The Bishop will be there, all 
the priests will be in attendance, and, besides, the place 
will be so thronged with clergy from all parts of France 
— I may say Europe — that it is more than doubtful 
whether you find out Eustache in the time we are per- 
mitted to remain." He turned sharply to Madame le 
Camac, whose scanty eyebrows were doing their best 
to express a frown ; " Well, Julie, what is your excuse 
for not wearing the badge V^ 

" There is no need for an excuse," one huge shoulder 
went up awkwardly, and with her free hand she pinched 
her apron like a shy child. " The good Father knows I 
cannot leave Marie Texier ; if she stays I stay too, if 
she goes I go, it is simple. I have no son at the 
Mount the Father says ; well, but Marie has one there — 
it is all the same — ha, ha." She laughed with awkward 
relief, opening her mouth to such an alarming extent 
that a stranger, waiting for the same train, drew back 
aghast that any woman should look so hideous. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 227 

Father Clery smiled. 

"Well," he said, "I think you are over scrupulous;" 
then, as they went on to the waiting-room, he said to 
the deacon, " I doubt if we have a couple of truer 
pilgrims among us than those two ; there is no excite- 
ment about them, and they will assist at all the offices 
devoutly. Marie looks better already for the hope of 
seeing her son." 

Meanwhile Madame le Camac was of quite another 
opinion. She knew how these two years of entire 
separation had told on the poor little mother, and at 
first she had tried to dissuade her from the long weari- 
some journey — for it would be sadly wearisome. Spite 
of the early hour of starting, the pilgrims would not 
reach Pontorson till evening — probably too late to go on 
to the Mount — and it seemed to be uncertain whether 
they would get lodging for the night even at Pontorson, 
so many arrivals were expected. But Madame Texier's 
firm though gentle pleading had prevailed, and Julie 
had given her consent to the expedition. 

" It shall go hard," she said to herself, " if I cannot 
find a bundle of straw for her to lie on, and I'll under- 
take to keep her warm." 

But the brightness of her friend's eyes and the glow 
on her cheeks this morning do not deceive Madame le 



228 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Camac. She looks wistfully at Marie Texier as they 
stand wedged in the crowd that more than fills the 
salle d'attente, and, as the atmosphere grows hot and 
dense Julie sees her look white and faint. 

Just then the door opens, and Father Clery's tall 
figure towers behind the little railway official, who pushes 
in an addition to the closely packed crowd. Julie and 
her companion are near the door, and Madame le Camac 
manages to catch the father's eye as he looks smiling 
over his flock. She points to Madame Texier and 
opens her huge mouth in dismay. The salle is now so 
full that it is not easy to open the door widely, but 
Father Clery forces a way with his burly shoulders, and 
the crowd makes a passage for him till he reaches the 
two women in the corner. " Make way," he says, 
" bring her into the air," and he leads the way through 
the buffet to the platform. 

Madame Texier draws a deep breath, and then she 
gives a little frightened glance at Julie, and one full of 
appeal to the priest. 

" I give so much trouble," she says humbly, " and 
it is quite my own fault — if I roused myself I should 
not be so silly." 

As she speaks a tinge of colour blooms on her 
cheeks and the priest smiles. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 229 

" That is right," he says, " you are getting better. 
Get her a glass of water, JuHe, and keep her walking 
up and down, and she will soon be herself again." 

Madame le Camac is slow-witted, and Father Clery^s 
quickness is more than she can follow. By the time 
that she has linked his hopeful words to the faint glow 
on Marie Texier's face, that glow has faded, and her 
friend is as white and wan as she was in the hot waitinsf- 
room. Madame le Camac's hairless eyebrows draw to- 
gether thoughtfully, but she cannot find words to say 
what she wants. At last, very abruptly — so that the 
words come like stones flung at a window — " Come 
away, Marie ; come, come ! " 

Madame Texier starts, and looks round in surprise. 

" Yes, come away, I have changed my mind ; we will 
not go to Mont St. Michel." 

Such a look of fervour and love comes into the 
little widow's eyes. 

" No, no, Julie, you shall not go — of course you 
shall not if you do not wish, but I must go, and " — the 
troubled look on the ugly uncouth face reveals Julie's 
secret — " my friend, I must go without you ; see then, 
I hope it is not selfish, but what can I do } my heart 
is where my boy is, Julie " — she stops and lays her 
hand on her bosom — " it draws and draws me to him — 



230 PICTURES AND LEGENDS - 

there is more of my life already at the Mount than 
there is in this poor little body." 

She speaks with tender earnestness, for Julie looks 
sulky; one shoulder is much higher than its fellow, and 
Madame le Camac fingers the basket in a discontented 
manner. 

" I do not say it is selfish — what do I know ; it is 
perhaps suicide I am helping you to commit, widow 
Texier." 

Julie will not look at her friend ; her eyes are fixed 
on a line of baggage trucks opposite. 

Madame Texier smiles sadly. She knows that 
Julie only calls her widow Texier when she is really 
displeased. She puts her hand timidly on the big 
square shoulder. 

" Listen, kind friend. It is not only for myself — it 
is more," she looks round to see that no one is near, 
" far more for my Eustache — he does not say he pines 
for me, — my boy is too good to ask the slightest fatigue 
or expense from his mother, — but there is a longing 
one can feel through words, a sadness that speaks 
without complaint. Mon Dieu ! I hope it is not all 
for myself; but indeed, my good Julie, I think the 
sight of me will put a great joy into the heart of my 
Eustache." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 231 

Her voice trembles, and Julie rubs her ^y^s roughly 
with her hand. 

" Well," she says harshly, " and when your visit is 
paid, what then ? will it not be worse for you both to 
part again ?" 

Marie Texier smiles. 

" Who knows," she says brightly, " I may find a 
lodging at the Mount," then, touched by the dismay 
shown by the gaping mouth and widely-opened eyes, 
" but why look on so far ; the day is enough to live 
through, and we shall not reach Mont St. Michel to- 
day, my good Julie." 

Part IV. 

OVER THE SANDS. 

The rain has fallen in torrents through the night ; it 
has soaked through many of the half-roofed sheds in 
which the tired pilgrims had been glad to lie down and 
sleep when they reached Pontorson, so that they rise 
up with wet garments. 

Madame le Camac stands at the door of the cafe 
where, thanks to Father Clery, she and Marie Texier have 
found a lodging, and Julie congratulates herself that her 
friend has been thus sheltered. 



232 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

The wind, too, has risen during the night, and it howls 
dismally as it rushes through the old grey town to the 
waste of far stretching sand, for it is neap-tide at the 
Mount, and there is no fear of shifting sands to-day. 
Still, Father Clery has arranged that the pilgrims shall 
start early, so that they may be in time for High 
Mass, and may be able to return to Pontorson before 
dark. The journey has already cost a large sum, and 
they must go on foot to the Mount itself, walking in 
Pilgrimage across the far-stretching waste of sand. 

As the distance is six miles or so, a rough cart has 
been secured for the weaker members of the flock, and 
in this jolting springless vehicle Father Clery has found 
a place for Marie Texier. 

Madame le Camac cannot stay to help her friend in, 
for the walking procession is to start first, and the priest 
and his colleagues find it hard work to place their 
pilgrims in suitable order before they begin their journey 
to the Mount. It is a dismal expedition ; the procession 
leaves the old town and moves slowly on by the uneven 
road towards the river till it reaches the borders of the 
Greve. The dreary waste of sand stretches itself out in 
weird vastness, and far away, mingled with the driving 
mass of gray cloud, is the shadowy Mont St. Michel, its 
outline blurred by the torrent of rain that still falls. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 233 

The cart in which Marie Texier rides has got along- 
side of the other pilgrims, and Marie puts her hand over 
her eyes so as to get a clearer view of the church 
planted high among the clouds. 

" My Eustache," she murmurs softly, " my dear boy, 
thank God I shall see him at last." 

How far off the Mount looks, and how impossible it 
seems that there can be any dwellers on that shadowy 
rock that looms out from the desolate waste of tawny 
sand, and seems to mingle with the storm-clouds. On 
the right, far away, crouching on the dull drab-coloured 
sand, the huge dark rock Tombelaine looks like a lion 
about to spring ; one might fancy him the storm-fiend 
keeping watch over the howling wind and rising waves. 
In the distance far behind is the Mount, right and left of 
it the gray sea stretches far and wide. One of her fel- 
low-pilgrims watches the wonder in Marie's gazing eyes. 

" At the great tides," he says, " the waves roll up to 
the very foot of the wall that surrounds Mont St. Michel, 
and it is cut off completely from land." 

Their fellow-pilgrim is an old man with flowing white 
hair ; he has already visited the Mount, and he shakes 
his head sadly, and points out to Marie a spot made 
dangerous by the quicksands. A cross stands near it 
telling of past woe. " But, indeed," the white-haired 



234 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

pilgrim says, " except at neap-tide, such as we have now, 
when there is no fear of the return of the water, it is 
very dangerous to cross the sands without a guide." 

All at once the rain ceases, and suddenly, distinct 
before them, as though a veil had suddenly lifted, is the 
bourne of the Pilgrimage, the Mont St. Michel. A 
glad cry passes along the band, and led by Father 
Clery they chant a hymn in honour of the Holy 
Archangel. 

"Ah!" says the fellow-traveller, "once on a time 
there was a golden statue of the saint on the summit of 
the church ; now there is a weathercock." 

"Are people often lost on the sands .?" 

Marie shivers and draws her shawl closely round 
her as she asks. 

" Dame, no. There are seldom new-comers dwelling 
at the Mount, and those who go from the continent do 
not venture unwarily on the sands. One was lost not 
long ago, however ; he was a priest." 

Marie's hands tremble till her shawl almost slips 
from them. "Was he young, monsieur.?" she says. 
" Did you hear where he came from V 

" Not I." 

Marie's lip quivers ; she says a prayer to herself. 
If it should be so ! Eustache has not written to her 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



235 



for many weeks, not even in answer to the letter in 
which she announced her coming. But, no : she will 
not listen to a vague fear. She will trust and hope, 
and as the Mount comes nearer and more and more 
distinct, hope and trust become easier. 

The wind has been rising higher and higher, and 
suddenly it swoops down in a whirling gust on the tired 
band of travellers. The fellow-traveller cries out and 
clutches at his hat ; he is too late, it has taken flight and 
is sailing on the furious blast. The pilgrims scatter 
over the sands, and struggle wildly against the gale, 
while their hats fly like black ants into gray distance, 
farther and farther away. 

" Stop there ; halt, come back ! I command you." 
Father Clery's hat has flown with the rest, and he runs 
after it too, but soon he stops, very red and panting. 

" It is useless, my friends," he cries ; " come back. 
In our eagerness we shall lose the track, and plunge, for 
aught I know, into some unsafe ground." Then he adds 
with a laugh, " We may hope for an extra blessing on 
bare-headed pilgrims." 

And after some delay the Father gets his scattered 
flock together again. 



236 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



Part IV. 

AT THE MOUNT. 

There are five hundred pilgrims in Mont St. Michel 
to-day, without counting many visitors and tourists who 
do not wear the red cross. The inns are full and over- 
flowing, and up in the fortress abbey there are large 
fires blazing on the enormous stone hearths of the 
refectory, and cooking is going on as if the old monastic 
hospitality were once more revived. Covers are laid on 
the long wooden tables, and the tariff of prices is 
moderate : but the viands do not look as tempting as 
they do down at the Lion d'Or, near the entrance gate 
of the rocky town. 

There is a rare bustle at the Lion d'Or to-day. Its 
low-roofed kitchen, into which you step down from the 
street, has few windows, and as the entrance door is 
small the kitchen is dark within. A young priest stands 
at the door asking questions, and as he looks inside the 
scene seems too picturesque for reality. Little by little 
his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, and he sees 
more than one long table filled with pilgrims, eating, 
drinking, laughing, joking, growing every moment noisier 
and merrier, each wearing the scarlet cross. 




LA MERVEILLE, MONT ST.-MICHEL. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 237 



The young priest steps down into the rambHng 
black-beamed place, and scans curiously the faces of its 
inmates, but a push on his arm disturbs his scrutiny. 

He stands with his back to a large wood fire on the 
open hearth, and as he looks round, a stout comely 
woman pushes her way up to the burning logs. She is 
clad in blue woollen, and her bare, plump, outstretched 
arms carry a huge frying-pan full of broken eggs. 

*•' By your leave, my reverend," she says. " This is 
the omelette for the company upstairs, and they must 
not be kept waiting for it." 

The young priest looks at the golden mass. There 
must be, in the frying-pan, at least thirty eggs, he thinks. 
There are, then, other pilgrims upstairs. And he climbs 
the creaking steps which rise from the kitchen itself. 

In the room upstairs are three tables full of guests, 
but not one face that he seeks, and the priest comes 
sadly downstairs again, just as the smoking golden 
omelette is being carried up. The mistress gives it to 
her deft waitress, and then she smiles at the priest. 

" Well, monsieur," she says, " it is not well of the 
fathers at the convent to be cheating us of our dues ; 
you cannot cook — you had better tend the sick. I hear 
there was a poor woman taken ill this morning, and no 
doctor could be got for her." 

" A sick woman," he says eagerly. " I wish I had 



238 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

known. No, the doctor is absent ; he went to Avranches 
this morning. Where is this sick woman .?" 

'' Ma foi I how can I know ?" — she puts both hands 
to her head — " I remember nothing to-day but my 
orders." She adds, laughing, " My husband there will 
tell you ; he has nothing to do but to talk," she smiles 
with a touch of sarcasm on her comely face, " nothing 
but to sit there talking," she points to a table at the 
back of the great rambling kitchen. Mine host, in a 
brown hoUand blouse, sits here smoking a prodigious 
pipe, with about six red-faced companions, also in blouses. 
There is a great cider pitcher on the table, and, judging 
by the faces of the host and his companions, it has 
been emptied and refilled more than once. 

As the priest approaches, the host looks up with a 
sort of careless indifference. 

" Can you tell me " — the young man is disgusted 
at what seems to him at such a time profane excess — 
" you, monsieur, I mean," this is said more sharply, for 
the innkeeper has not even removed his pipe, " where the 
sick pilgrim I hear of has been removed to .?" 

The innkeeper lays down his long pipe and smiles. 

" Dame !" he shrugs his shoulders ; " there is not 
much amiss, she will do well enough. I was by when 
she fainted at the gate here this forenoon, but just now 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 239 

Andre said he saw her in the procession with the rest 
of the Chartres pilgrims waiting for the Bishop." 

" Chartres pilgrims, did you say ?" The young priest 
starts, and then flushes ; his voice is very eager. " Are 
you not mistaken. The pilgrims to-day are surely from 
Versailles and Tours." 

" From Versailles, yes, reverend father, but not from 
Tours. Father Gaspard told me this morning that the 
Tours pilgrims have not yet reached Pontorson, and 
these from Chartres have come to-day in place of them." 
. But before the last words are spoken the priest has 
turned to go away. He hurries out of the inn, passes 
through the dark archway of the inner battlement, and 
then, turning aside from the crooked street of ancient 
stone houses, goes up the steep ascent to the fortress 
abbey. The rain has ceai^ed, but the wind howls yet 
more wildly over the waste ; a waste even more dismal 
here, for it seems boundless, except where a faint blue 
line marks the Breton coast, and on the right a stronger, 
nearer line of margin traces out Avranches and the 
Norman sea-board. 

Farther north, islands make uncertain specks in the 
wide expanse of gray sea and monotonous greve, for at 
this height the variation of tint is indiscernible, and the 
infinite sameness gives a weird melancholy to the prospect 
— -a melancholy that fills the heart with unaccustomed 



240 PICTURES AND LEGENDS. 

throbbings and fragments of thought, fragments which 
might — who can say ? — grow into poetry in a longer 
contemplation. The young priest had felt these 
throbbings on his first arrival at the Mount, but to-day, 
though the atmosphere was charged with weird pathos, 
he hurried on, alike unmindful of the desolate waste or 
of the superb " marvel " of masonry before him, till he 
stopped at last before the frowning doorway and entered 
the monastery. 

In the guard-room two priests were busy at one 
end of the large vaulted hall, selling crosses and rosaries 
to pilgrims, while at the other end some peasant-women 
had set up a shop for photographs. 

" You must hasten," one of these said to her customer, 
" or you will miss the benediction in the Crypte des 
Gros Piliers. The Bishop is on his way there now." 

" Do you hear, Adele," the woman who was buying 
said to her companion ; " hasten, or we shall miss an- 
other sight." They paid hastily for their purchases, and 
scrambled up the steps which led into the interior of 
the building. 

Here all was scramble and confusion ; the ordinary 
guides were making holiday, and people roamed aimlessly 
up and down the long passages and dark irregular 
flights of stone steps, trying to find their way to the 
crypt, and fearing to lose themselves and to get buried 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 241 



out of hearing in some of the far-off world-famous 
dungeons of the fortress abbey. A few dim oil-lamps 
here and there only shed a faint glimmer in the utter 
darkness of the place round the spot on which they 
hung — stone walls and roof alike black with age. 

But the priest knew his road, and he hurried on 
through the noisy groups of pilgrims till he reached the 
chapel of Notre Dame-sous-Terre. 

He had purposely avoided the main entrance to the 
crypt, and had gone in at the side, and now he 
stood wedged in by the crowd against one of the groups 
of huge pillars which give its name to this wonderful 
chapel, or series of five chapels, beneath the church itself. 

Even his eager search for the Chartres pilgrims was 
checked for an instant by the scene. A little way from 
him was the famous image, a black Madonna, richly 
dressed and surrounded by a wreath of flowers ; over 
her head hung a lamp, shining out like a star against the 
dark pillar and black vaulted roof, while from the roof 
itself hung an iron chandelier filled with blazing candles. 
The spaces between the two circles of pillars were inky 
in their depth of darkness. 

Just under the chandelier, so that the light con- 
centrated itself on his gold jewelled mitre and splendid 

vestments, stood the tall Bishop of Coutances, his 

R 



242 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

jewelled crosier borne beside him ; behind and around, 
stretching away into the dark aisles, was a crowd of 
white-robed priests and acolytes, and beyond these 
again, surging round the crypt till every inch of it was 
filled, so closely packed that it seemed as if you might 
walk on their bowed heads or upturned faces, were the 
pilgrims ; each of them was marked with the red cross, 
and many of them carried a lighted candle. 

And now the Bishop began the hymn, and as the 
pilgrims poured out their voices till the sound rang 
from arch to arch, and, swelling out through the dark 
arches, was echoed back from far-distant seldom-trodden 
galleries, tears rolled down many of the withered cheeks, 
and fell on many starched cap-strings and many a ragged 
gray beard. 

The hymn swelled louder and louder, and then, as 
it ended abruptly, the procession formed itself and began 
slowly to leave the underground chapel. Just as the 
Bishop turned to follow the long string of priests, 
there was a swaying movement in the crowd, and a 
woman's voice cried : 

" Make way — make way, I tell you. You will 
trample on her ; see, she is falling!" 

" Mon Dieu!" an old gray-bearded man wheezes 
out. " She should not be in such a crowd ; folks come 
here to worship, not to faint." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 243 

The priest has pushed his way through the swaying, 
moving mass, and now he stands beside the woman who 
cried out just now. Well enough he knows that hugely- 
opened mouth and that triangular nose, but he has no 
time to recognise Madame le Camac. His eyes go on 
to the burden she struggles to keep from falling, for her 
arm Is clasped closely round her small slender companion. 
The priest does not stop to gaze at that gray death-like 
face, nor does he ask a question. 

" Leave her — make way," he says, as he bends over 
Marie Texier, and raises her in his strong young arms. 
He bears her out of the dark chapel, along a passage to 
a staircase, and Julie scrambles after him quickly, and 
finds herself presently in a square cloister, three hundred 
feet high in air, surrounded on all its sides with ex- 
quisite lancet arches, supported on slender sculptured 
columns. 

The priest has lain his burden down just within 
these arches, he kneels beside Marie and unties her 
cap-strings. 

Madame le Camac is bustling forward, but at the 
agony in the priest's face she stops short, for she recog- 
nises Eustache. The little mother and her boy are to- 
gether at last. The mother's eyes are open now ; she 
too sees her boy, and a bright smile shines out of the 



244 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

wan gray face. Julie shrinks back and cowers behind 
the arches. Too well she knows the joy that fills that 
tender long-suffering heart ; how could she rob it of 
one minute of its longed-for happiness } She must yield 
up her part in Marie now. So she shrinks out of sight. 

" Mother, mother," Eustache says, " how long has 
this been ? Oh, why did I not know V for too surely 
it seems to him that death hovers on that ashy face and 
on those purple lips. 

His mother gazes fondly at him, and tries to put 
up her hand and stroke his face. 

" My Eustache," so softly said that he has to lean 
down to hear, " it is I who should kneel to him for 
blessing." Her eyes close. "Thank God," she whispers 
as he stoops to kiss her forehead. 

" Mother, you will recover." He looks round for 
help, and he sees the figure crouching behind the slender 
columns. 

"Some water from the sacristy!" He points to a 
large doorway up some steps. " Send one of the con- 
vent fathers," he says, hurriedly. 

Poor Julie ! She gives one sad hungering look to 
the spot where Marie lies. It is too hard. She, whose 
whole life's happiness lies there fading quickly away, 
she must leave her, and give up the hope of a last fare- 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 245 

well, while Eustache " Oh, it is hard ; it is hard. 

He left her of his own free will," she says, hurrying 
along ; " he has been happy enough without her all 
this while — but. Holy Virgin, I am wicked ! " And she 
goes on still more quickly. 

And while she hurries on, Eustache says all this to 
himself. " I have been happy without her — yes," he 
says ; " but, oh, mother, I have sorely longed for thee ! 
Mother — little mother, speak to me — one word !" He 
forgets all. He is no longer the calm, self-sustained 
priest Eustache ; his hot tears are falling on the pale 
face. 

" Has it been worth while V he murmurs ; and then, 
after a long, silent pause, with bowed head, he sobs, 
" Oh, mother, how thy loving heart has ached for me !" 

Heavy steps come along the cloister. He starts, 
looks up, and here are Father Clery and Julie side by 
side. 

The young priest clasps his mother in his arms, as 
if he fears she will be taken from him ; but Father Clery 
bends down and looks in her face for an instant ; then 
he draws back, and gently draws back the eager Julie. 
"Hush!" he says, reverently, "we are too late. All 
that is left us now is to say the office for the faithful 
departed." 



246 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE CASTLE OF FALAISE— ARLETTE— HONFLEUR— PONT-AUDEMER 
—THE FOUROLLE— BESIDE THE RILLE. 

From Avranches we went on to Vire, and thence the 
diligence drive to Caen is one of the most charming 
incidents of Norman travel. We had stayed in Caen 
before, and so we did not linger in the old city, so rich 
in churches, and in associations specially interesting to 
English men and women. We were anxious to visit 
the castle and town of Falaise — the birthplace of 
William the Bastard. 

The town of Falaise is built on the top of a lofty 
platform, the extremity of which is a precipice (whence 
the name Falaise). From this rocky termination of the 
platform rise, sheer and frowning, the imposing ruins of 
the castle, consisting of the Norman donjon-keep and 
Talbot's tower, the last a noble piece of masonry, built 
by the famous Englishman Talbot, warden of the 
Norman marches. 

Henry V. of England besieged this castle in 141 8. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 247 

It withstood him for four months. Between 141 8 and 
1450 Talbot built the tower which bears his name ; it 
is more than a hundred feet high, and the walls are 
fifteen feet in thickness; there are four stories in it, of 
which the floors remain ; a winding stair leads to the 
roof, from whence is a magnificent view. The Castle 
of Falaise was besieged by Henri Quatre in 1559. It 
held out against his cannon for only seven days, and the 
breach in the wall by which he took the castle by assault 
still remains. Altogether, this fortress has sustained 
nine sieges, one from William the Conqueror himself 
when quite a lad. 

At the foot of the rocky height from which the 
castle rises winds the river Ante, pleasantly shaded by 
trees. Beside the stream are the washing-places of the 
townswomen, as they also were in the far-off days of 
the Norman Duke. 

The legend relates that one day, looking out of a 
window of the lofty castle keep, Robert Count of Hiesmes, 
afterwards Duke Robert the Magnificent, saw Arlette 
washing clothes in the river Ante. She was very 
beautiful, and the youth at once fell in love with her. 
Arlette was the daughter of a tanner of the town, and 
neither daughter nor father seems to have held out long 
against the young Count's love and importunity. 



248 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

i 

The son born to Robert and Arlette was the future 
conqueror of England, born in the castle, — so says 
tradition, — and a little room is still shown as "Arlette's 
Bower." 

The Count of Hiesmes is said to have always treated 
his lowly love with the greatest tenderness and con- 
sideration. After his death Arlette married Herlwin 
of Conteville. Two sons were the fruits of this marriage 
— both destined to be celebrated, though in a less degree 
than their half-brother William — Odo, Archbishop of 
Bayeux, and Robert, Earl of Cornwall. 

From Falaise to Mezidon, and thence to Honfleur, 
is an easy journey, and there is something in Honfleur 
which made us go back there willingly, although we had 
already passed through it after leaving Etretat. Poor 
Honfleur was once queen of the Seine, and its famous 
port held complete command across the mouth of the 
fair river. In those days it boasted 17,000 inhabitants, 
and now perhaps it does not possess 1000, for the far 
more modern city of Havre has taken all the wind out 
of its sails, and mud has choked its harbour. It still 
sends quantities of fruit, butter, and eggs to England, 
and the apricots of Honfleur are renowned. 

Many of the old wooden houses are picturesque, 
and the market-place is very quaint, as the illustration 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



249 



shows. But the great attraction is the charming walk 
up the shady side of a hill looking over the Seine to 




MARKET-PLACE, HONFI.EUR. 



the pilgrimage chapel of Notre-Dame de Grace, and 
the view from the Calvary here is most striking-. 



I 

t 

250 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

The chapel is very interesting, full of votive offerings 
of sailors who have escaped shipwreck, and of others 
about to embark on a long voyage. 

Around Honfleur, and more especially between 
Havre and Caudebec, a pleasant feature of the country 
is the Norman farm-house, embosomed in orchards with 
thatched roof and neatly-kept barns, in great contrast 
to its Breton neighbours, where pigs roam freely where 
they please, and where the corn is threshed by hand in 
the farm-yard, or outside the house-door ; but spite of 
these evidences of civilisation, superstitions are as rife in 
Normandy as they are in Brittany, especially in the 
neighbourhood of Pont-Audemer, where the belief in 
fouroUes is firmly established. The fourolle is a woman 
who has committed sacrilege, and for this sin is doomed 
for seven years to wander at night as a will o' th' wisp. 
She does not seem to have the power of working as 
much mischief as the feu-follet, who is supposed to be a 
sinful priest, but she is doomed to wander, terrifying 
and terrified by travellers. If any one addresses the 
fourolle by her real name, while she is dreeing her 
penance, her term of seven years begins once again. 

The drive between Honfleur and Pont-Audemer is 
charming, full of beauty and special points of interest, 
and it was while taking this drive that we learned the 
tradition of the fourolle. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 251 

A LEGEND OF PONT-AUDEMER. 

Chapter I. 

A FENCING MATCH. 

Mademoiselle Louis Courbon has a very thoughtful 
look on her fair freckled face, and her round green eyes 
have a sadness in them that is quite unusual ; for 
Mademoiselle, although no longer young, is as merry as 
ever she was, and her plump, round, little well-dressed 
figure and smiling face are always to be found when 
amusement is going on in Pont-Audemer. Her round 
very green eyes are puzzlers : sometimes they are full 
of innocent open wonder, and then they give through 
the half-shut yellow eye-lashes long glances, which can 
only be called furtive. She is an orphan, but her 
parents left her that little half-timbered tumbledown 
house beside the Rille, with its gable atop and washing- 
place below. This last is a source of revenue, for the 
river washes the basements of the multiform picturesque 
dwellings beside it, and Louise lets out the washing- 
shed to about twenty-laundresses, a set of merry hard- 



252 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

working souls, as diligent at blackening their neighbours' 
characters as they are at soaping their linen. 

Louise ekes out her slender income by dressmaking ; 
that is to say, she will make dresses, and bonnets and caps 
also, for a chosen i^sN. She works for Madame C, the wife 
of that citizen who celebrated his retirement from the 
office of mayor by building, on the top of the steep green 
hill which closes in one end of the town, the staring white 
house which " swears " — as the natives say — with 
everything else in Pont-Audemer ; she has also worked 
for Madame Trajon, the wife of the lawyer and town- 
clerk ; and for old friendship's sake she now and then 
makes a gown for the handsomest girl in Pont-Audemer, 
Frangoise Gerard. But this is a condescension ; the 
dressmaker considers Frangoise her equal; and it is not 
for the girl's sake that she makes the gowns, but for 
that of Louis Perreyve, a young soldier, far away now, 
whom Louise loves as though he were her young brother. 

Louise Courbon is in a hurry to-day, and so, instead 
of lingering beside the lovely Rille — merry with its 
shedfuls of chattering, laughing washerwomen, noisy 
with the whirr of the bark-mills which show beside the 
stream, among the quaint half-timbered and red-brick 
houses backed by lofty poplar-trees, the green hill rising 
above them all — we must go on with her along the quay 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 253 

— for Louise has crossed the bridge, and there is a stone- 
bordered quay on this side the water, with little flights 
of steps, up which girls come slowly, so as not to upset 
the tall well-shaped brown pitchers poised on their 
heads. 

Half-way along the quay Louise turns on the right 
into a small narrow street, and crosses the bridge in the 
middle of it. On each side of the canal — for here is 
one of the many branches of the poor hard-worked river 
Rille — old tumbledown wooden houses go down to the 
water's edge, reflecting their grim and scarred old faces 
in the stream, with here and there bright flowered 
nasturtium wreaths clinging to the old gray boards or 
moss-grown tiles. 

The water is low to-day, for a dark line and a growth 
of tiny creeping plants on the foundations of the old 
houses show that it is sometimes a foot or so higher, 
and at such high tides the white-capped woman who is 
now kneeling on a flat stone, and beating the red shirt 
under her hands so vehemently with her wooden bat, 
would surely be under water if she tried to wash in the 
river as it flows by her house. At the back window of 
one of the houses on the left Louise sees a face she 
knows, and begins to nod. Then, instead of following 
the street to its end on the market-place, she takes a 



254 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



narrow turning on the left, parallel with the quay and 
also with the Grande Place below. 

She looks yet more serious as she stops at a door, 
and then, after knocking, enters. 

" Go into the front parlour, Mademoiselle," a wel- 
coming voice says from a room at the back ; "be kind 
enough to wait, and I am with you directly." 

The welcoming voice has a fat wheezy sound, and 
Mademoiselle Louise's face is yet graver. 

" Wicked old hypocrite !" she says, her freckled face 
growing wdiite with anger — a greenish white, which does 
not beautify Mademoiselle — "giving herself such airs, 
too !" and then she looks round the room with a sigh of 
envy, for small as it is there is no room like it in Pont- 
Audemer. 

The floor is very dark and highly polished, so that 
even well-practised Mademoiselle Louise walks thereon 
with caution. The panelled walls, painted a bluish 
white, and the white lace curtains, are like the walls and 
curtains of many another house in Pont-Audemer ; but 
where else will you see such a richly carved oak-beam 
across the ceiling, or such a fine sculptured mantelshelf, 
or find such carved oak chests and cabinets of different 
shape and size, but all manifestly genuine antiques and 
in good preservation } Truth to tell, their owner is a 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 255 

dealer in such works. There is a chest of Louis Treize 
period, with a '•' Last Supper" carved thereon, that any 
connoisseur must long to possess, and on one of the 
others, a tall narrow bit of rich carving shaped 
like a what-not, are three tall Venice glasses with 
flower-shaped bells and slender-twisted stems. There 
is a wealth of colour in these .old glasses, gold and blue, 
green and opal, full of all hues, and softening all. A 
Persian rug in front of the fireplace, glowing with rich 
colour, makes the faded blue curtains which screen the 
hearth yet more faint in hue, for though it is autumn 
the weather is still warm at Pont-Audemer. 

On a small oak table in the middle of the room 
are some admirable photographs in standing frames, 
and in the centre of these is a glassful of exquisite 
flowers — myrtle and jessamine. 

" It must be the miller who gives these flowers," 
says Louise, with a very sour look on her usually good- 
natured mouth. *' He has come to gifts, then, already, 
has he 1 I am not one day too soon if I want to help 
Francoise. I'll see if I cannot be one too many for 
Mother Therese." 

There is a gasping noise in the passage, but no 
sound of footsteps. 

" She creeps about like a mouse, sly old toad," says 



256 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the irate dressmaker ; " I know her ways ; she shall 
not catch me tripping." 

And she plants herself at the door, her eyes round 
with innocent wonder. 

" Be welcome then, my good friend," the wheezy 
waddling dame says, as she appears, and her florid 
brick-dust coloured face is creased with a smile, which 
somehow always has the effect of a grin in the small 
black twinkling eyes of Madame Gerard. She is fat 
and round and smiling, but she is not genial-looking, 
her small keen eyes are set too near, and look across 
one another, her lips are thin and colourless, and as 
she has lost her front teeth, her tongue shows in a 
disfiguring manner when she laughs. She wears a 
black silk dress, and a cap trimmed with lace and 
purple ribbon, and her hands are small and soft, in 
spite of their wrinkles. "You are just the person I 
need. I have a nice dress, Mademoiselle, and it will 
be charming if you will only consent to make it up for 
me." 

Louise's round eyes change in an instant to green 
slits, but she forces a smile to her lips. 

" Oh, but you ask me an impossibility, Madame 
Gerard. What can I do .^^ I refuse the wife of Simon 
the butcher. I refuse Madame Fouquier of the Grande 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 257 

Rue. I have indeed refused Madame Mousseline her- 
self at the Pot-d'Acier. What can I do ? I offend all 
the rest of my neighbours if I work for one and 
refuse the others." 

While her visitor speaks, Madame Gerard has 
waddled to the old yellow sofa, and she pats the wide 
seat with her little brown hand as an invitation to 
Mademoiselle Louise. 

" Bah," — for the dressmaker has stopped for breath 
— "who are all these people.'' You will not surely 
confound me — the widow oi a distinguished artist — 
with the wives of the butcher and grocer, or with 
Madame Mousseline of the Pot-d'Acier. I should 
think not, indeed !" She rubs her hands together, and 
there is malice in her little black eyes. 

Up go Louise's shoulders in a shrug that brings 
them near her ears. She feels spiteful, and a red spot 
glows in each cheek. " An artist !" she says to herself; 
"that is not much. But Gerard was not even an 
artist ; he made photographs, and bought old furni- 
ture." Then, to Madame Gerard : " It is all the same, 
Madame, these ladies consider you their equal. You 
see we do not always estimate ourselves rightly. 
However, at present I am busier than I care to be/' 

S 



258 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

she adds with dignity. Then, in a tone of forced care- 
lessness, "Is Frangoise at home?" 

Madame Gerard's face does not change, but her 
small eyes are full of war. 

*' Yes, yes ! the dear child is at home, but she is 
busy. I will give her any message, Mademoiselle 
Louise." 

Instead of answering. Mademoiselle Courbon, who 
has remained standing, runs out of the room to the 
foot of the stairs, crying, " Frangoise, Frangoise, where 
are you V 

Madame Gerard waddles along the passage as fast 
as she can go, but Louise is already half-way up the 
old-fashioned staircase. 

On the landing she pauses, half-strangled, for a 
young girl has sprung down the upper flight and flung 
both arms round her friend's neck. 

" Come down," she says, " why should you have | 

the trouble of climbing, Louise V 

" Yes, yes, come down ! " in a gasping shriek from 
below, for Madame Gerard has reached the foot of the 
stairs. 

" Fran^oise," — Louise looks up at her tall elegant 
friend with angry eyes — " I want to talk to you alone, 
let us go up." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 259 

But tall strong Frangoise has put both hands on 
her little friend's shoulders, and she pushes her towards 
the lower flight. 

"No, not to-day," she smiles; "how can I disobey 
my mother, Louise?" 

At this Louise's eyes contract, and she gives a 
green gleam at the handsome wilful creature who has 
so suddenly remembered her obedience. She keeps 
silence, however, till they are all three in the parlour 
again. 

" Is it true, Frangoise, this that I hear," impetu- 
ously, " that you are letting yourself be courted by 
Emile Constant V 

The dark-eyed, dark-browed girl bends her head 
and twists her long fingers together. Her mother's 
eyes twinkle keenly. 

" Good Louise, you doubt no one, you believe all 
you hear. What sweet innocence at your age 1" 

Louise turns her back on Madame Gerard's smiles. 
" I wait an answer from you, Francoise," she says. 

Frangoise has handsome features, brilliant eyes, and 
good dark hair ; but she has a pale sallow skin, and 
now this is becoming suffused with red, and she looks 
abject and ready to cry. 

"Monsieur Constant," she says fretfully, "yes, he 



26o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

comes to see us. Mother, you said there was no harm 
in his visits ; why don't you tell Louise so ?" 

The little dressmaker takes firm hold of the twining 
fingers, and fixes her eyes on the confused face. She 
sees a struggle in it, but she cannot be sure what this 
means ; she fears by a word even to injure the cause 
she has come to plead, and yet she must speak. 

" Would Louis Perreyve like to hear of Monsieur 
Constant's visits } " she says in a low voice. 

It is unfortunate that Louise is so short, for Fran- 
goise sees over her the shakes of the head and the 
expressive frowns of that wonderfully placid -faced 
mother ; it is very curious that out of such a flat shape- 
less lump of flesh such rapid flashes can emanate. 
Those little restless eyes do it all, though perhaps the 
lipless wide mouth gives force and a kind of cruelty to 
the sharp glances. 

Frangoise tosses her head. 

" Louis is not a tyrant, and he would say I was 
impertinent if I objected to my mother's visitors." 

Louise squeezes the girl's fingers till she hurts 
them. Madame Gerard tries to put in her word, but 
the little woman will not be stopped. 

" Listen ;" as the girl pulls her hands away, Louise 
turns suddenly and stands sideways between mother and 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 261 

daughter. " I'll do nothing underhand ; but remember, 
Madame Gerard, you let your girl promise herself to Louis 
Perreyve in my presence, and but for old Eustache you 
would have let her marry him too. Well then, because 
Eustache Perreyve has lost his money and Louis will 
be a poor man, is he to be cast off for a rich new 
comer like Emile Constant ? . Shame on you, Therese 
Gerard." 

Madame Gerard snaps her fingers in Louise's face. 

" Shame on you, you meddler. What call have you 
to be keeping guard over a fine girl like Fran9oise, 
with a mother to protect her } But single women are 
all alike : they think every chance a girl gets is so 
much taken from themselves. I suppose you have an 
eye to Monsieur Constant." 

Louise keeps her eyes fixed on Frangoise's face. 
She smiles scornfully at the last words. 

" Well, Madame, I have done my part ; but when 
Monsieur Constant comes to Pont-Audemer again I shall 
tell him all I know. He is not one to be content with 
another man's leavings." 



262 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Chapter II. 

A rOUROLLE. 

PONT-AUDEMER IS a small town. It has a large, grand 
old church, and a large market-place ; besides this 
there is one long street, the Grande Rue, with the country 
rising up in a green hill at each end, and the street in 
which Louise lives, on each side of the Rille, which 
runs through it ; besides these there are little narrow 
turnings which connect the two wide streets and traverse 
the canals which work the tan-mills. On this account, 
as every one sees every one else at church or in the 
market, news spreads quickly in Pont-Audemer. 

Louise Courbon knows this well, and she says to 
herself as she walks home : — 

" If Emile Constant did not live all by himself at 
Montfort, he would have known long ago that FranQoise 
is promised to Louis Perreyve." 

But to-morrow is market morning, and it is quite 
possible for Louise to walk beside the river on the way 
to Montfort, and meet Monsieur Constant as he goes to 
market. 

" I will tell him FranQoise is promised, and I will 
tell him something else — something you do not quite 
count on. Mother Therese." 




OLD HOUSES, PONT-AUDEMER, 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 263 

Next morning is full of drizzling rain, the river looks 
a dull gray as she walks beside it, and the leaves of the 
poplar-trees hang down heavily — they are so wet that 
they scarcely tremble on their slender stems. 

Almost as she leaves her house, some one comes 
limping along and takes off his cap to Louise — a tall 
stiff-looking man in a blouse and canvas trousers. He 
does not wear a beard, but his long gray moustaches 
give him a military aspect, and he is truly an old soldier 
of the First Napoleon ; but his lameness disqualified 
him early, and he earns a peaceful living as a gardener 
at Pont-Audemer. 

" Good-morning, Monsieur Perreyve," Louise nods 
and smiles ; " is there any news of Louis V 

" Good-day, Louise ; there is no news of my boy, 
and I hear he is going to the frontier, so there is no 
hope of seeing him perhaps for months ; but where are 
you off to so early, my beauty .''" 

He shuts one eye and laughs slily ; he has no idea 
of making fun of Louise — to him she is always the 
young fresh girl of seventeen who grew old and staid 
all in one night when the news came that Gaspard 
Perreyve, Louis' eldest brother, had fallen in Algeria, 
fighting bravely. The news killed Madame Perreyve, 
and Louise set aside her own grief to comfort the widower 
and his son Louis, then a boy of ten years old. 



264 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Louise looks round sharply, and a tinge of colour 
spreads over her freckled face. 

" You should take care, Monsieur Perreyve ; it is 
better to pay a compliment in-doors." 

"Ah, mon Dieu, is she not original !"— he bursts 
into a peal of laughter, and at last he pulls off his cap 
and takes out of it a yellow and blue handkerchief, with 
which he wipes his eyes. " A compliment !" he murmurs 
amid his laughter. " Ma foi, but she is original." 

Louise has something more to say, and she gets 
impatient as he breaks into fresh laughter, and puts 
her hand rather firmly on his arm. 

" But, my friend, do listen : I say it is a pity Louis 
does not come home to look after Fran^oise." 

" Mille tonnerres!" — he leaves off laughing and 
looks as blustering as if he still wore a uniform ; 
Louise knows him too well to trust him further — he 
has no discretion, this simple old gardener, and he would 
be capable of walking up to Emile Constant on the 
Grande Place and boxing his ears, if he were told that 
the miller had dared to visit his son's betrothed. 

" Good-day," she nods and smiles, and hurries on 
at a pace which she knows poor limping Eustache can- 
not attempt. 

The river takes a bend, and she is soon out of sight 
of the houses. It is a lovely walk, spite of the drizzling 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 265 

rain, but Louise is absorbed in looking out for the rich 
miller of Montfort. 

Here he comes at last on a tall gray horse, 
which he sits so as to resemble one of his own corn 
sacks. 

Louise has never spoken to him, but that does not 
stand in her way. She knows him well enough by 
sight — has she not lately watched him come out four 
times from the house of Mother Therese t Louise drops 
a curtsey as he comes up to her. 

On nearer inspection, Monsieur Constant looks 
rather like a pudding with a dumpling atop — or perhaps 
like a home-baked loaf; his face is pale and round, he 
wears a large round straw hat and a brown holland 
blouse ; he has staring dull blue eyes and a small round 
mouth, and these features open widely when Made- 
moiselle Courbon curtseys. He takes off his hat, but 
his curiosity will not suffer him to pass on. 

" Your servant, Mademoiselle. You are doubtless 
an inhabitant of Pont-Audemer, whose acquaintance I 
have yet the pleasure to make." 

"The pleasure is not certain, Monsieur" — Louise 
speaks carelessly ; as a short woman, she has a natural 
contempt for this stout pigmy on the tall gray horse ; 
"but I have to make you, Monsieur, acquainted with 



266 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

some matters, and as they are private, it seems to me 
you had better get down and hear them." 

Where the miller's eyebrows should be, thick red 
semicircles rise towards the roots of his scanty hair, 
his eyes glance mournfully towards his little gaitered 
legs, and the corners of his mouth droop as much as is 
possible. 

" Mademoiselle," he says, puffing out each word as 
if blowing soap bubbles, " I am enchanted to receive 
your confidences, but— but it is difficult for me to 
descend without assistance — and — I might injure my 
legs." 

Louise sneers till her nose turns up more than 
ever. 

" Don't be afraid," she says ; " I'll hold your horse, 
and you can lean on my shoulder." 

"Ah — you — are very kind — Mademoiselle," he puffs 
more than ever, but he sits still in his saddle. 

*' Mademoiselle" — he looks slowly round and then 
settles himself comfortably — " I see no one but the 
ducks in the river ; if you will have the complaisance 
to stand close beside me I will bend down as much as 
possible" — he propels out each word — "and I will thus 
receive your information. Ahem." 

" Little fool," Louise thinks ; but she is too anxious 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 267 



to lose more time, and seeing that Constant has grown 
purple in the effort to bend down towards her, she 
goes close up to the horse. 

'' Monsieur/' she says gravely, "are you not courting 
Mademoiselle Frangoise Gerard ?" 

Monsieur sits suddenly upright. 

"■ I — I — I — by what right, Mademoiselle, do you 
ask me such a question V 

" Right .^" — Louise is puzzled for a moment. "Well, 
Monsieur, if I saw a man robbing you of your hand- 
kerchief I should cry out, and you would thank me 
instead of asking for my right ; but I forget, in this 
case it is you who are the thief, Frangoise is the hand- 
kerchief, and Louis Perreyve is the miller of Mont- 
fort." 

"Louis Perreyve a miller.''" — in his puzzle he 
forgets to puff — "you mistake. Mademoiselle. I have 
been told that Monsieur Perreyve is in the army of the 
North." 

"Listen to me" — she speaks sharply. "Before 
Louis went away he was betrothed to Frangoise Gerard, 
in my presence — do you hear } — in my presence" — she 
calls this loudly, for Monsieur Constant has turned his 
face away from her observant eyes. 

" I hear, Mademoiselle," and Louise softens when 



268 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

she sees that tears are rolling over his round cheeks ; 
"but — but I have been cruelly treated" — there is a sob 
in his voice. " Should not Madame Gerard have told 
me this ? I — I am attached to Mademoiselle Fran- 
goise/' — he puts his hand on his heart. 

''And you knew nothing about Louis .''" 

''Mademoiselle" — he raises his head and puffs more 
than ever — " for what do you take me } I am an honest 
man, I tell you, and Madame Gerard has not behaved 
like an honest woman." 

" Ah, but she cannot ; she is not honest, Monsieur. 
Do you not know — I am afraid to say it aloud, it is too 
terrible, stoop down again — she is" — in a loud whisper 
—"a fourolle.?" 

She crosses herself as the word is uttered, and 
Constant turns as white as ashes. 

"How do you know — can it be proved?" he 
whispers back. 

" It could soon be proved. I myself have seen her 
go out at night when she thought all the world was in 
bed, for when I was younger I learned my trade in a 
house opposite hers. No one knows her story, but you 
know it is sin that makes women fourolles, Monsieur 
Constant" — she crosses herself again — " and when she 
has served her seven years to the Evil One she will be 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 269 

free, unless some one puts out her light. Ma foi, I 
would do it cheerfully if I could only meet her." 

Constant gets paler still, and draws himself farther 
from the excited dressmaker. 

" Mademoiselle/' he puffs, " I wish you good-day — 
you must pardon me — but a man cannot be cheerful 
who in a few moments has had the happiness of his 
life destroyed. Oh !" — he burst into a yell of despair, 
shook the reins of his horse, and went off at a gallop. 



Chapter III. 

THE EX-CORPORAL MEETS HIS MATCH. 

"Madame Le Gros, come here, if you please, I have 
a commission for you." 

Eustache has stood looking after Louise, his cap in 
one hand and his yellow handkerchief in the other, for 
nearly ten minutes. He is not quick at comprehension, 
but the dressmaker's words have stirred him strongly, 
and he casts about for the explanation of her warning. 
If she knows that Francoise wants looking after, others 
may know it too. " Mille tonnerres ! I must do my 
duty to Louis, poor boy. Ah ! why did he tie himself 
up so young ?" 



270 PICTURES AND LEGENDS. 

He remembers the bundle under his arm, and he 
comes down to the entrance of the washing-shed, and 
calls for Madame Le Gros. 

A tall thin woman, her face hidden by the large 
pink kerchief tied over her cap, comes up from the 
water, rubbing her sinewy arms with her apron. 

" Your servant, Mr. Corporal what do you want of 
me V^ — among the women, with whom he is a favourite, 
Eustache is still Monsieur le Caporal. ' 

As Madame Le Gros speaks, an idea comes into 
his head. 

" Ma foi !" he says, " it is wonderful that I should 
have come here ; among such a party of gossips, some 
one must know why Frangoise wants to be taken care 
of" 

But it is one thing to get an idea and quite 
another to be able to use it, and all Eustache does is 
to gaze earnestly in the face of the tall skinny washer- 
woman and hand her his bundle. 

" Thank you. Monsieur, is that all I can do — tenez ! 
What ails Monsieur this morninsr ?" 

Her sharp wits are puzzled by the corporal's grave 
face, for Eustache has always a smile and a joke for a 
woman. 

"Hold!" he says, for she looks over her shoulder 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 271 

as if meditating a return to her soaping ; ** yes, yes, I 
have it ; Madame, my good neighbour, have you 
lately seen the young girl named Frangoise Gerard ?" 

" Dame — I should think so. Frangoise is not one 
of those who keep shut up within four walls." 

"She is not ill, then.''" — it has occurred to him 
that Louise's words may point to this meaning. 

" 111 ,? no. Why should she be ill V Madame Le 
Gros looks mocking and inquisitive. 

" I do not know." Eustache feels foiled, and 
stares at the washerwoman till she laughs in his face 

" Well " — he speaks angrily — " a girl frets after a 
lover sometimes, when he is away." 

Madame Le Gros sets both her arms akimbo, and 
shakes her head. 

'* Ta — ta — ta, Fran^oise is not that sort — one goes 
another comes. She'll never marry Louis ; ma foi, no." 

Eustache frowns fiercely, and as she turns back to 
her washing, he grasps her arm. 

" Say what you mean — I'm tired of the hints you 
women fling at one another. What do you mean 1 
Who has Frangoise put in my son's place .?" 

He roars like a bull, and his face is very red ; and 
first one and then another of the capped and kerchiefed 
washers look over their shoulders as they kneel beside 



272 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

the Rille — then they gabble fast to one another ; and 
then, as Madame Le Gros answers, a buzzing chorus 
echoes her words — 

" Monsieur Emile Constant of the mill at Montfort." 

" Constant ? I don't know him. What is he like ?" 
says the ex-corporal, twirling his grey moustaches and 
looking as fierce as a wolf. 

They all laugh — not at him, but at his question. 

" He is a pudding " — " a ball " — " one of his own 
flour-sacks " — " he is more like a pair of bellows," 
Madame Le Gros screams till her voice tops the rest. 

" He will be in town to-day for the market," says 
Eustache, and the women think he looks bloodthirsty. 

"Well, Monsieur" — Le Gros pats him on the 
shoulder — " don't be too hard on the poor little man ; 
he can't help being rich, and a rich man to Therese 
Gerard is like a peach to a wasp." 

"Bah!" Eustache breaks away from her — he 
burns to meet this rival, this traitor, who steals another 
man's betrothed In his absence. His plan is to await 
him In the market-place, where Constant is sure to be 
pointed out to him by the bystanders. 

'' Mother Therese ! What does it matter about 
Mother Therese t — the man knows what he Is about." 

It Is early yet, and there are few buyers on the 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 273 

Place. The sellers are still busy putting up their 
booths, the corn-market is at one end under shelter, 
and although there seems to be an array of sacks but 
few of the owners have arrived. 

Eustache looks about him uneasily — a hand touches 
his arm, and he hears the gasping voice of Madame 
Gerard. She usually avoids ^him, to-day she greets 
him with a sweet smile. 

" Ah," he says, without answering her greeting, 
" you will do as well as any one ; look among those 
men yonder" — he points to the corn-market — "and 
tell me if one of them is Emile Constant, the miller of 
Montfort." 

Therese gives a little start, for she sees how fiercely 
he glares at her, but she answers quietly — 

" No, he is not there — at least I think not, for in 
truth I know little of him ; but, Monsieur Perreyve, what 
business can you have with the miller of Montfort .'*" 

Her look of simple surprise puzzles him. 

" Well, Madame " — he takes off his cap and wipes 
his hot face with his handkerchief — "you know better 
than I do, perhaps. I have a reckoning to settle with 
this miller, and if you like you can stay and hear me 
call him to account for trying to come between my 
son and your daughter." 



274 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

He holds his head angrily erect, and towers like a 
storm-cloud over the round, waddling woman. 

Her face beams placidly, but the little bead-like 
eyes are very restless. She does not answer directly — 
she has not dreamed that Louise would carry out her 
threat so soon. 

At last she says pleasantly — 

" Come, come, Monsieur Perreyve, why should we 
quarrel } Monsieur Constant will not be here for an 
hour. Come home with me, and I will explain to you 
all I know of the matter, and you can talk to Frangoise; 
believe me I am on your side." 

Eustache believes in women — he always, when he 
can choose between the sexes, prefers to blame a man, 
and now as he has time to spare, he thinks he will go 
with Madame Gerard — her house being so near the 
corn-market — and hear what she has to say. 

She opens her house-door, waddles to the stair- 
foot, and calls for Frangoise. No answer comes. 

" I am sorry, Monsieur Perreyve," she says politely. 
"Frangoise must have gone out in my absence; but if 
you will take the trouble to sit down, I can, I believe, 
tell you the state of the case." She sits down and 
gasps, but Eustache stands sullenly upright. " Monsieur 
Emile Constant," she wheezes, " has eyes in his head. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 275 

and he sees how handsome the child is. I suppose 
neighbours see him look at her — doubtless they see 
him pay me visits. But, Monsieur, when I say to 
Frangoise, ' Thou must not encourage Monsieur Con- 
stant/ she answers — for the child is quite innocent of 
harm — 'Why not, mother; thou dost not think Louis 
would be jealous of a silly little ball of a man like the 
miller. Louis would laugh at him.' " 

Eustache frowns. 

" I will wait and see Frangoise, Madame ; you call 
it innocence, I call it coquetry, for a girl to trifle with 
one man when she belongs to another — especially when 
the new man is rich." 

" Oh, Monsieur " — Therese smiles and pats his arm 
— "remember a handsome girl is like a flower, she 
takes all the sunshine and gives none back. You need 
not fear Francoise ; make yourself easy and trust to 
me." 

But while she smiles up at him there is such evil 
in her eyes that Eustache, spite of himself, doubts more 
than ever. 

"No," he says impetuously; "that's just what I 
can't do. I can't feel easy till I've told that confounded 
miller to keep his eyes to himself So by your leave 
Madame, I'll go back to the market and wait for him." 



276 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

"Imprudent fool, he brings it on himself;" her 
eyes gleam fiercely, then she says aloud, carelessly, 
" Well, Monsieur, do as you please ; but Frangoise will 
grieve to have missed you. She was talking of you 
this morning ; she shall be so proud of her tall, handsome 
father, she says." 

Eustache leaves off frowning. 

"Did she say so, little rogue.''" and he strokes his 
moustache complacently. " Well, Madame, you will 
say to her that she might sometimes come and see me 
— she is always welcome." 

" Ah, Monsieur, the poor child ; how could she be 
sure of that when you were so determined that the 
marriage should be put off.'' But your message will 
make my Frangoise quite gay. Come, Monsieur, before 
you go let us drink a glass to the success of our son 
Louis in the army of the North." 

Eustache has two weaknesses — his own good looks 
and cognac, and Mother Therese knows them both. 
She has only one bottle and a few glasses inside the 
tall oak cabinet with the Venetian goblets at top, but 
she fumbles as if she were choosing from a store as her 
head disappears behind the carved open door. 

She emerges presently with a small round black 
bottle and two glasses ; she pours the liquor into these 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 277 

on the top of the cabinet, and then offers one to 
Eustache and puts her lips to the other. 

The ex-corporal smacks his lips. " Mille tonnerres, 
Madame, but this is good, good, good" — his eyes stray- 
to the bottle as he sets down his empty glass. 

''Ma foi, Monsieur" — her restless eyes might have 
warned Eustache if his eyes had' not been fixed on the 
bottle — " we are a clever pair. Between us we have 
forgotten to drink the health of our son Louis — permit 
me." 

She sets his glass on the cabinet and bends over it 
while she fills it. 

"To the health of our son — our dear son, Louis." 
She closes her eyes, and again she just tastes the 
brandy. 

Eustache tosses his off; presently he looks at her 
with a dazed, foolish expression. He makes a step 
forward, and tries to speak, but only mumbles, and 
catches at the sofa to save himself from falling. 

" Take my arm," says, Madame Gerard, " there is 
no time to lose, my friend. We will go and find 
Monsieur Constant." 

Eustache takes her arm, but he puts out his other 
hand and reels against the wall of the passage. 

" Gently — gently," Madame gasps, but her eyes 



278 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

are keen as a knife till she has guided him safely out 
of the house and across the empty street into an arch- 
way a little further down, where there is a heap of 
empty wine-barrels. 

He does not speak ; he follows her guidance blindly, 
and indeed his eyes are half-closed, and he leans on her 
so heavily that she can hardly walk beneath his weight. 
As soon as she gets behind the barrels she stops. 

" Lie there, meddling fool," and she pushes him 
with all her strength. 

He rouses, makes a clutching grasp, and, missing 
her, falls heavily on the round paving stones of the yard. 



Chapter IV. 

THE FOUROLLE MAKES ANOTHER CONQUEST. 

Therese's flat round face peeps out of the archway, 
the street is empty, and she goes back to her house. 
In her hurry, for she knows the power of the dose she 
has given, and feared lest Eustache should fall in the 
room, she left the glasses on the table, and though 
she is hurrying to see Monsieur Constant, she goes in 
to remove these witnesses of her interview with the 
ex-corporal. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 279 

She opens the door and goes in. Standing at the 
entrance to the parlour, looking into the room, is Louise 
Courbon. 

She turns quickly, and Therese sees how pale her- 
face is. 

" You are out early this morning, Madame," says 
the dressmaker; "have you seen Monsieur Constant?" 
— for the thought that comes to Louise as her quick eye 
lights on the wine-glasses is that the matter is already 
settled, and that Francoise has been that morning 
betrothed to the miller of Montfort. 

Therese's eyes work strangely, and she too turns pale. 

"Why should I see Monsieur Constant.''" she says. 
"What does the girl mean V 

" I mean this, Madame. I told vou I would do 
nothing sly, and to-day I have told Monsieur Emile 
that your daughter is promised to Louis Perreyve." 

Through her half-closed lids she looks keenly at the 
old woman, but Therese's face is smoother than it was 
before. 

" Magpies must chatter, it is their nature," she says 
calmly. " I should not dream of telling my private 
affairs to a stranger." 

"Though you give a drop to 'a stranger' at this 
time of day," says the freckled woman with stinging 



28o PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

emphasis. '' Good day, Mother Therese, I may chatter, 
but I am not a will-o'-the-wisp." 

Therese reddens, but she wants to be rid of her 
visitor, and so lets her depart unanswered ; then she 
hastily puts away the wine-glasses into the cabinet, and 
takes her way to the market. 

The place is thronged, but scarcely any one greets 
Therese. The Cure of St. Ouen as he passes avoids 
the chance of speaking to her. 

'' Did you see } ' 'sa3^s old Nanon, the potato-seller, 
to Julie, the vendor of red cabbage and carrots close by, 
" Monsieur le Cure passes Therese Gerard without a 
word." 

'' Mon Dieu !'' and gossiping red-haired Julie clasps 
her hands In horror, and repeats to her next neighbour 
that old Nanon saw Monsieur le Cure sign himself as 
he passed Mother Therese, because she is a fouroUe. 

" She ought to be burned or drowned," says the 
next neighbour Rose, and she goes home and tells her 
husband that Monsieur le Cure of St. Ouen says Therese 
Gerard ought to be burned or drowned for being a 
will-o'-the-wisp. 

Monsieur Constant Is busy among the corn-mer- 
chants at the farther end of the market, but he sees 
Therese on her way towards him. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 281 

He too turns his back on her, and screws his round 
flat face into a Hstening expression as he plucks the 
sleeve of the slowest speaker in Pont-Audemer, Mon- 
sieur Ricanot, the tailor, and asks him the news of the 
day. 

But Therese sees this manoeuvre and understands 
it. She can be as patient as a camel when she has a 
point to gain. So she hovers round the unhappy little 
man, like the fourolle people say she is, till at last 
the corn-merchants drop away one by one, and he is 
left alone. 

Then, as if she just perceived him, she darts on him 
with the sudden descent of a hawk. 

" Ah, good day, my friend, and you are coming to 
see us, are you not, as you promised "i" 

She turns as if to walk beside him to her house, 
but Emile retreats. 

His round face has become a very greasy yellow, 
and his eyes stare duller than ever. 

" Madame must excuse me," he stammers. " I have 
to return home early, and I must forego the honour of 
the visit " 

Therese laughs till the tongue shows in her empty 
mouth. 

" What a pity," she says, " when Frangoise has 



ft 



282 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

stayed in all the morning to have the chance of thank- 
ing you for the charming flowers. Well, then, you 
must give me a pretty message for my daughter;" she 
nods her head triumphantly, though she is wondering 
how to get this fat idiot — as she calls him — home, and 
settle the matter irrevocably. 

" Her daughter !" Constant's lower jaw drops, and 
he looks ready to faint with terror. Therese gazes at 
him with such astonished glances that he is forced to 
speak. " Madame — I have been told news — Madame 
— why did you not tell me that your daughter was not 
free, that she was promised to Louis Perreyve .'*" 

He clenches both fists in the energy of his 
demand, for at the remembrance of the deception prac- 
tised on him he thinks only of losing Frangoise, and 
forgets his fear of the fourolle. 

" Louis Perreyve !" Therese opens her little eyes. 
'* Ma foi ! is there then no end to the gossip of Pont- 
Audemer ? Now, Monsieur," she says with an offended 
air, " I will v/ager that the teller of that news was 
a little freckled, green-eyed chatterbox called Louise 
Courbon, with a face like a toad and a tongue like a 
magpie. Tell me it was she, and you set my heart at 
rest." 

Constant's dull wondering eyes stare at Madame 
Gerard. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 285 

" It was undoubtedly such a person, Madame ; I 
was about to make other inquiries, but somehow I was 
prevented." 

He had nearly said, " If I could have got out of 
your sight or hearing I should have asked further 
questions, but now — " " But, Madame," he goes on, 
" I cannot see why this person should have come out 
to seek me and tell me what is not true." 

Therese smiles till her brick-dust face is full of 
creases, and her eyes are less restless as she sees his 
anxiety for her answer. 

" How good you are !" she gasps ; " how unsuspect- 
ing ! Why, Monsieur, the last time I saw Louise 
Courbon she told me that a rich man had taken the 
mill at Montfort, and that she would be his wife before 
the year was out, even if she had to ask him her- 
self. It was that made me guess none but she could 
have made up such a story about my poor slandered 
child." 

She rubs her hard, dry little eyes with the back of 
her hand, pretending not to see the rapid changes that 
pass over Constant's round stupid face. 

" Good day, Monsieur," she goes on ; "I will tell 
Frangoise that you care so little for her good name 
that you listen and give credit to the first tale-bearer 



28i PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



you meet with. What right had you to win my beauti- 
ful child's heart and then deceive her?" 

Constant stretches out both hands imploringly. 
"Her heart, did you say, Madame?" he puffs out. 
" Ah, mon Dieu ! if I could hope — listen, Madame " 
— for Therese has turned her back on him and is 
departing, " I am not handsome, but I have a heart, 
and I am honest ; if this story is false, then I ask your 
pardon a thousand times, and I entreat you not to 
betray me to your charming daughter. Madame, I 
have shown my admiration for that young lady — but," 
he lays his fat hand on his heart, " my love is unspeak- 
able — it is here — here!" — he slaps his chest several 
times — " and it consumes me." Therese has turned 
round, and is looking at him steadily, but he is too 
much excited to notice her gaze. '' Madame " — he 
waves both hands — "when I heard that that fair 
enchanting creature had belonged to another man 
before I saw her, and that while still belonging to him 
she had smiled on me as she has done, and led me to 
hope for success, I felt as if — as if I should burst — you 
might have put me into the mill and ground me into 
flour. No, Madame, I am not handsome, but decep- 
tion I cannot forgive." 

Again Therese's eyes grow restless. 



I 



FROM NORM AND V AND BRITTANY. 285 

"Well, Monsieur, I forgive you, and if you will 
promise not to listen to any more idle gossip, I will 
let you see Frangoise, and bring matters to a conclu- 
sion, for it seems to me that is what you want.'"' 

"Madame, you are too good," he says. "I left 
home with this intention, and if I had not met that 
freckled mischief-maker I should this morning have 
asked for the hand of your daughter." 

Therese waves her hand impatiently. "Do not 
speak of that girl Louise. She shall never make 
another gown for me — never. Since you wish it, let 
us go and find Frangoise." 

"What is the old witch doing with the foolish- 
faced miller .?" says red-haired Julie to old Nanon. 

" She has cast a spell on him," says that withered 
old dame ; " and he will fade like a summer flower." 



Chapter V. 

THE MILLER SPEAKS HIS MIND. 

Evening draws on, and the lull which has come over 
the little town since the bustle of the market departed 
is broken now by the sound of the fife and drum, aad 
the steady tramp-tramp of a body of soldiers as they 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



pass through the town on their way to Honfleur. They 
may only halt for half an hour or so, but two or three 
privates whose homes are in the town have leave to stay 
and greet their friends, and join the regiment at Havre. 

As they pass her door, Mother Therese looks out 
in the dusk. She can only see the soldiers moving at 
a quick pace. 

" Curse the red-coated fools," and she closes the 
door, rejoicing that Frangoise stays within. 

Soon after a tall man staggers out of the archway 
and comes into the street ; he goes a little way down 
it, and then, feeling giddy, he seats himself on a door- 
step, nearly opposite Therese's house, and falls asleep. 

The street seems to have gone to rest, when all at 
once hurried steps come from the end near the little 
bridge. A tall young soldier walks at a fast pace, and 
behind him lags the watchman of Pont-Audemer with 
his huge horn lantern. 

"Pouf!" says this worthy, "I can't keep up with 
your long legs, Louis — we have been to every drinking- 
shop in the town — go home to bed, your father will 
turn up safe and sound in the morning." 

But the young soldier has seen the sleeping man 
and stops beside him, and as the lantern is turned on 
his face they both recognise Eustache. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. iZ-j 

" Ciel !" exclaims Louis, "what has happened? 
It is my father, he is not drunk, he is ill — what do I 
know, dying ? help me, my friend." 

They raise Eustache and drag him between them, but 
they do not take him home ; instead, Louis stops at 
the door of Louise Courbon's house, and knocks loudly. 

" I have found him," he says to the dressmaker ; 
" But something terrible has happened — see how his 
head has been bleeding." 

They get the doctor, and they watch beside him all 
night ; but Eustache does not regain consciousness. 

At last, as morning steals into the room, he opens 
his eyes. 

"Louis" — he does not seem surprised to see his 
son — "you need not take care of Frangoise — the witch 
will kill you if you meddle — let her marry the miller if 
she likes." 

He closes his eyes again, and is deaf to all questions. 
' Louise growls white. 

" Mon Dieu !" she whispers, "had Eustache been 
drinking with her yesterday morning, and has she 
poisoned him V 

And then she tells Louis the events of the previous 
day. 



288 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



An hour later Louis Perreyve knocks at Madame 
Gerard's door. 

He respects Louise — he knows she is true, but he 
thinks she is prejudiced against Therese, and he cannot 
g-ive up his trust in Francoise. 

The girl opens the door herself — Louis enters 
quickly and clasps her in his arms. 

She struggles away from him. 

" No, Monsieur ; no, Louis — you must not — mother ! 
oh, mother, come here !" 

The young soldier lets her go and then stands 
stupefied while Therese waddles out of the back room, 
where she is making coffee. 

" Monsieur Perreyve, this is an unexpected honour," 
she gasps contemptuously. 

" What do you mean, Madame .?" — his senses are com- 
ing back to Louis, and with them comes violent anger. 

" I mean that when a man is dolt enough to listen 
to his father and to go for a soldier, when he might 
marry the girl he loves, he deserves to lose her. Your 
father was rich enough to buy you a substitute, Louis 
Perreyve. If you wouldn't stav to take care of Fran9oise 
you have no right to her. She is now another man's 
property." 

" Hold your tongue, shameless woman," he says 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 289 

fiercely ; " if my father were still rich, you would not 
dare to play me false." He checks himself, and turns 
to Francoise. "' My beloved," he says tenderly, " I do 
not wrong you by a doubt : you are true — you love me 
— and you will not listen to your mother's words ?" 

" My mother says the truth — I am not true to you." 
Francoise blushes and hangs her head. " There has 
been deceit enough, but I meant to write and tell you 
to-day." 

"You are not true — heavens!" — he snatches her 
hands and compels her to raise her eyes. " Mon Dieu ! 
can you be false — you whom I have so trusted ? 
Frangoise — look at me — look into my heart and say 
you do not love me." 

The girl blushes redder still, her lips quiver, and 
she shrinks from him in a burst of tears. 

" Oh, mother — mother — you promised to spare me 
this" — she clasps her hands over her eyes. "I said I 
could go through with it all — if I did not see Louis — 
I cannot bear it." 

Louis tries to put his arm round her, but she pushes 
him away. 

Mother Therese has stood looking at them with her 

restless eyes. She stamps her foot, and draws Francoise 

to her. 

u 



290 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" You fool " — she shakes the girl's arm — " you poor 
whining fool !" she gasps. "You will then marry this 
poor soldier, and give up all your fine prospects ?" 

Francoise shakes herself free — she raises her head 
and looks calmly at Louis. 

" You think yourself very clever, mother," she says, 
" and you like to call names, but you are wrong, though 
I shall marry to please myself, not you." She looks at 
Therese, and laughs at the alarm in her face. 

" Louis," she says, " do not try to win me back. I 
esteem you too much to listen to you : you cannot 
make me happy." Then, as he turns away in anger — 
" Listen, my friend, only a rich man can make me 
happy. If I marry you I shall only love you a little 
while — as soon as hardships begin I shall hate you and 
leave you." 

" Francoise"- — he stretches out his hands imploringly 
— " it is not your own self who speaks. Think how 
happy we have been — think how I love you ; ah, you 
do not know how happy I can make you my beloved — 
come back to me, my Frangoise." 

But the girl still shrinks back, and Therese stands 
between the lovers. 

" This must be ended. Monsieur," she says ; " you 
must be thought of as well as Francoise. My daughter 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY, 2QI 



dares not listen. She promised herself yesterday to 
Monsieur Emile Constant, the miller of Montfort." 

"Is this true?" Louis speaks vehemently, then, 
pushing past the old woman, he drags Fran^oise to the 
stairs' foot, where there is more daylight than in the 
narrow entrance passage. " Who is this man .?" he looks 
at her sternly ; " I never heard of him. Speak — do 
you love him .''" 

" Let me go " — Frangoise is wild with grief and 
anger — " he is not a stranger— yes, my mother has told 
you the truth." 

As she speaks there is a loud knocking at the door. 
Therese turns a gray paleness, she is so frightened that 
she stands helpless, leaning against the passage wall. 
Louis lets go of Francoise and opens the door. 

Side by side, looking as strange a pair as could be 
seen, are Louise and Monsieur Constant. 

The miller's large dull eyes are full of angry excite- 
ment ; but Louise is radiant. She glances over the 
group in the passage, and then she turns to her com- 
panion. 

''Well, Monsieur, do you believe me now.?" Then 
speaking to the astonished group, " Why do you all stand 
here V says the brisk little woman ; and she goes into 
the parlour, the others following like a flock of sheep. 



292 PICTURES AMD LEGENDS 

" Now, Monsieur Constant, you have to excuse 
yourself to my friend Louis, and let the blame fall where 
it is really due." 

The miller, thus exhorted, holds up his flat round 
head and prepares to puff out his words with extra 
vigour ; but Louis stands stupefied by surprise that 
stifles anger. He turns slowly from the heavy unmean- 
ing face and unwieldy figure to Frangoise, but she will 
not meet his eyes. Till now she has braved it out — 
she has conquered the longing she had for Louis's love 
— from very fear of her own weakness she has kept 
firm, but she cannot bear his contempt, she cannot bear 
him to see the man she has put in his place — she turns 
away as the miller speaks, and hides her face against 
the wall. 

" Mademoiselle Courbon, when I called on her this 
morning," he says pompously, " when I questioned her 
this morning on some information she gave me yester- 
day — said I should find Monsieur Perreyve here, and 
that I owed him an explanation." He does not look 
at Louis ; he directs his discourse to the Venice 
goblets, which come precisely into level with his staring 
eyes. " But I do not feel that I owe explanation or 
anything to anybody. Morbleu ! shall I give explana- 
tions when I have been deceived, made a fool of — what 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 293 

do I sa}^, outraged ?" he screams out with sudden 
wrath, and shakes both fists in the face of Madame 
Gerard. 

She rouses with an effort, for the sight of Louise 
has paralysed her with terror. Therese's first thought 
was that Eustache had denounced her — but the dress- 
maker's silence gives her hope that as yet nothing has 
been discovered. 

" Monsieur Constant," she says, " a promise cannot 
be broken — you are the promised husband of my child : 
pay no heed to these fables — look at Frangoise and 
do not listen to these intruders." 

" No, I will not look at her, traitress," he screams 
in fury. "Ah, hag, harpy, murderess, for have you 
not nearly murdered the father of this gentleman } 
Marry your daughter! do you think I could be sure of 
my life, you witch } Take yourself away, infamous 
that you are — take yourselves both away from Pont- 
Audemer, or I will have you prosecuted and punished. 
Monsieur " — he turns suddenly to the young soldier — 
" shake hands, Monsieur, we are well rid of such a wife 
— come — come away as you would from the pit of 
hell — and you Mademoiselle " — to Louise — " open the 
door, if you please." 



2Q4 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

Eustache recovered after a while from the effects 
of the narcotic he had swallowed, and from the injuries 
he had received in his fall. 

His son went back to the army of the North, reck- 
less what became of him ; and the Gerards disappeared 
in the night from Pont-Audemer. Gossips say that the 
Evil One fetched away his own ; and gossips also say 
that soon afterwards the miller of Montfort proposed to 
the little dressmaker, but that she prefers to remain 
Mademoiselle Louise Courbon, 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 295 



CHAPTER XII. 

CAUDEBEC — ROUEN — ST. ROMAIN AND THE DRAGON— "A WAIF 
OF THE WOODS" — CHATEAU GAILLARD. 

From Pont-Audemer one must cross the Seine to reach 
Caudebec. 

Perhaps one of the most charming sights the Seine 
offers to the traveller who comes down the river 
in the little steamer from Rouen to Havre is the 
pretty town of Caudebec, backed by richly wooded 
hills, with its broad terrace beside the river, along 
which a double avenue of trees runs close to the water's 
edge ; while behind, above the quaint half-timbered 
houses, rise the rich spires of the fine church — or 
cathedral, as travellers so often call it. We reached 
Caudebec on market-day, and the broad quay was alive 
with country folk, who not only set up their stalls here 
but spread the ground with their merchandise, while 
their lofty green-hooded waggons stood ranged under 
the tall trees of the avenue. But the market was at 
its best in the Grande Place in front of the church, and 



296 



PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



this is altogether the most picturesque sight to be seen 
in either Normandy or Brittany, not even excepting 




MARKET-PLACE, CAUDEBEC. 



the market of Ouimper ; for although the Breton 
costumes are far more rich in colour and quaint in form 
than the ordinary Norman peasant clothing, the Cau- 



I 



FROM NORM AND V AND BRITTANY. i^-j 

debec women get the pull in the taste with which they 
display their wares, and in the far greater charm of the 
Place itself 

Henri Quatre said the grand old church at one end 
of this Place was the finest chapel he had ever seen ; 
its southern side completely fills the end of the square, 
the other three sides of which are filled by quaint old 
fifteenth-century houses, as yet but little modernised. 
Hitherto Caudebec has been a sleepy town, full of old- 
world quiet, only broken by the noise of the bark mills 
which at times make the whole place unsavoury ; the 
railway is some miles off, and the demon Improvement 
has not yet cast his eyes on this rarely picturesque 
town beside the silver Seine, with its gray fringe of 
willows and its winding curves ; but he is not far off 
— it is only a question of months, or perhaps a year 
or two. The traveller who would see this perfect speci- 
men of an old Norman town, still wearing the picturesque 
charm that old age gives, and with all the freshness of 
old-world ways still clinging to its people, should visit 
it without delay. There is plenty of sketching to be 
done in the town, and the walks are lovely. 

Sauntering on beyond the avenue, along the dusty 
white road, now shaded by a lofty tree-covered hill, 
where old Norman farm-houses nestle, now screened 



298 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



from the river by wan phantom-like birches, we came 
one afternoon to the exquisite Httle pilot village, Ville- 
quier, with its tiny-spired church perched half-way up 
the wooded height, as if it would keep its distance alike 
from the castle above and the cottages at its feet. 
This village, where the river curves in an exquisite bay, 
is a station for the pilots who guide boats and barges 
through the perils of the Seine and its dreaded Barre. 

The large illustration shows the principal street 
of Caudebec, lined with old houses. At the end rises 
the richly carved church spire, which, like the rest of 
the building, is a miracle of stonework. We spent 
some time in this delightful little town, and were very 
unwilling to leave its peaceful beauty for the more 
noisy and crowded city of Rouen. 

Eouem 

The city of Rouen has been so well and so exhaust- 
ively described by so many writers that it does not 
seem necessary to give any detailed account of it in 
this book. Only a few years ago it was the most 
picturesque city of Normandy, perhaps, indeed, of 
Europe ; now, alas, much of its quaint originaHty has 
disappeared, and the old houses that remain are being 




GRANDE RUE, CAUDEBEC. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



299 



replaced by modern inanities, the old streets will soon 




AN OLD COURT IN ROUEN. 



have passed away, and only the churches and a few 
public buildings will remain of old Rouen. Even 



300 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

public buildings have been deprived in a large measure, 
owing to these changes, of their picturesque connecting 
links with the past. 

The Place de la Vieille Tour is perhaps the least 
modernised of the old Places of Rouen ; it still 
possesses many picturesque points. The building 
called Monument Saint Romain stands in this Place, 
opposite the Halle aux toiles or Cloth Market ; it is a pic- 
turesque specimen of the Renaissance style. This build- 
ing is associated with a strange ancient custom, called La 
Levee de la Fierte de St. Romain ; for on the top of 
the double flight of steps the Chapter of the cathedral, 
every year on Ascension Day, was entitled to pronounce 
by one of their number the pardon of a criminal under 
sentence of death. How this privilege came to be 
accorded to the chapter of Rouen Cathedral the fol- 
lowing legend will show : — 

^aint Eomai'n anti tje 2Drtig:Dm 

Saint Romain had passed his youth at the court of 
Clotaire the Second, and was loved and reverenced by 
rich and poor alike for his piety and modesty. He was 
consecrated bishop of Rouen about 630, and he at once 
vigorously set to work to put down idolatry. His pious 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 301 

efforts were crowned with great success and he had 
power given him to work miracles. The most famous 
among these exploits was his encounter with a dragon 
called Gargouille. An enormous monster of this species 
suddenly appeared in a marshy meadow in the neighbour- 
hood of Rouen, and very soon the creature filled the hearts 
of the townspeople with sorrow and dismay; he devoured 
indiscriminately all the men, women, children,and animals 
who came in his way. No one dared venture near the 
marsh, and all business which lay beyond the town on 
that side was suspended. This wholesale destruction 
of his flock greatly troubled St. Romain, and he turned 
over in his mind many ways of putting an end to 
Monsieur Gargouille's inordinate appetite. At last he 
determined to make a direct attack upon the monster. 
He announced his intention in the cathedral, and ex- 
pressed a desire that some one should accompany him 
on the expedition. But no one seemed inclined to 
accept the privilege. At last the bishop's difficulty 
came to the ears of a criminal under sentence of death, 
and he at once offered his services. The bishop 
accepted them gladly, and the two set forth for the 
marsh. St. Romain only took his pastoral staff; but 
his companion preferred to carry a serviceable sword 
and shield. 



302 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

When the monster saw the saint and the sinner 
approaching he rushed towards them, flapping his huge 
wings, and, making a fearful outcry, he spat forth fire 
from his mouth and nostrils. The criminal felt his last 
hour was come, but put himself in an attitude of de- 
fence. Nothing daunted by the fearful sight, the good 
bishop instinctively raised his hand and made the sign 
of the cross, uttering a sentence in very good ecclesias- 
tical Latin. To the bishop's surprise — for it must be 
owned he was feeling more confidence in the effect of 
a good blow from his staff than from any Latin — the 
dragon instantly dropped his blustering attitude, and 
cowered before his adversaries. The bishop without 
more ado whipped off his stole, passed it round the 
monster's neck, and delivering him to the criminal, bade 
him lead the dragon into the city. 

Great was the wonder of the inhabitants when they 
saw the trio approach — the bishop walking beside the 
dragon as calmly as if he were pacing the cathedral, 
and Monsieur Gargouille shambling along with lowered 
crest and drooping wings, held in leash by the criminal ; 
and so, followed by the rejoicing townsfolk, they passed 
on to the cathedral square, where Monsieur Gargouille, 
by the order of the bishop, was tied to a stake and 
burned. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



303 



It need hardly be said that the condemned criminal 
received a free pardon for his share in the exploit. 




MONUMENT TO ST. ROMAIN, ROUEN. 



In order that the memory of this great miracle 
might be preserved, the king Dagobert gave to the 



304 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 



cathedral of Rouen the power to pardon every year, 
at Ascension tide, a criminal under sentence of death. 
The pardon was pronounced from the top of the double 
staircase, and then the criminal walked in a procession 
of priests and acolytes to the cathedral, carrying la 
Fierte de St. Romain. La Fierte was the casket con- 
taining the relics of St. Romain, and during the cere- 
mony of his pardon the criminal was obliged to support 
this on his shoulders. This curious custom was only 
done away with at the time of the Revolution. 

Many quaint by-streets and lanes still exist in 
Rouen ; the illustration represents one of these. 

All sorts of legends are told of Rouen and the 
neighbouring country ; a very popular one is related of 
Richard the Fearless, third Duke of Normandy, whose 
father and grandfather, William Longsword and Rollo, 
are both buried in Rouen cathedral. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



j^3 



^ MaiT of tje (L(llooti0. 

A I,EGEND OF DUKE RICHARD THE FEARLESS. 

" A Richard le Normant aduint maintes merveilles 
Vers celles que vueil dire elles sont nompareilles 
Quon puis dire de bouche ne escouter doreilles." 

Roman de Richart. 

Part I. 

One evening, just after sundown, Richard, Duke of 
Normandy, called Sans Peur, was riding slowly through 
the wood near his chateau de Molineaux. As he passed 
under the branches of a lofty tree he heard the wailing 
cries of an infant. He stopped his horse and listened 
— the cries redoubled, and, to his astonishment, they 
seemed to come from above his head. 

The Duke quickly dismounted, and, fastening his 
horse to a tree, began to unbuckle his spurs. 

" Surely the child is in the tree," he thought ; " I 
will climb and find out." 

Another burst of cries and sobs, and he began to 
climb the tree as fast as he could ; guided by the voice, 
he soon discovered the little creature niched in a hollow 
formed by two branches. Then he looked at his dis- 
covery. It was a beautiful child, and its clothes were 

X 



3o6 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

of a good fashion and texture. As soon as the Duke 
touched it it left off crying. He clasped it to his 
breast, and climbed down the tree carefully. 

"Whose child can this be.?" he said. "By my 
faith, I must be its godfather, poor little soul." 

The Duke tenderly wrapped it in his cloak and 
remounted his horse, then he rode quickly towards the 
cottage of his forester and knocked at his door. 

" See what I have brought you, Margot," he said to 
the forester's wife. " Your trees bear strange fruit." 

He held the child to the woman, but it began to 
cry out loudly, and showed by its looks and movements 
that it wished to remain with the Duke. 

" Holy Saints !" said Margot, "does my lord mean 
that he found this beautiful creature in the forest?" 

" Yes, by my faith, I plucked it from a tree ; how 
it got there the saints only know. As I rode along I 
heard loud cries in the air ; I climbed a tree, and this 
little apple was growing on a branch." 

While the Duke spoke, Margot had got the little 
creature in her lap, and began to take off its clothes. 

" Tell me, my good Margot," said the Duke, " is it 
a boy or a girl." 

" By the blessed Virgin, my lord, it is the most 
beautiful girl that was ever made." 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 307 

" That pleases me well," said Richard. " I put her 
in your charge, Margot ; you must be a mother to her." 

"Yes, yes, Monseigneur, your will shall be obeyed." 

The Duke put some gold pieces on the table and 
gave a parting kiss to the child, who laughed and 
crowed with delight ; then he mounted his horse and 
rode away. 

It was now nearly dusk, and as the Duke turned 
into one of the wide alleys of the forest he came upon 
a large pack of hounds ; behind them ran the hunts- 
men, blowing horns, and after these came a great 
number of men on horseback. 

The Duke's horse stood still and trembled in every 
limb. 

But Richard cried out, " By the true God, I will 
know who are these who dare to hunt without my 
leave." 

Suddenly the Mesgnie Hellequin^ came into his 
mind, and just then he espied among the troop one of 
his own squires who had died a year ago. The Duke 
urged his trembling, stumbling horse towards the figure. 
" From whence do you come V he asked ; "what brings 
you here 1 were you not the seneschal of my court .'' 
and have you not been dead a year 1 " 

The phantom hunter and his troop. A superstition of Normandy. 



Jo8 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Yes, sire," said the figure, in a hollow voice, " I 
was seneschal of your court, and I died a year ago." 

" Tell me then," said Richard, " how have you come 
to life again ?" 

" Alas, sire, I am not alive, I am a spirit, and I am 
doing penance for my sins, and so are all the rest you 
see here. We are all the servants of Hellequin." 

" How dares he hunt in this forest without my 
leave," said the Duke angrily. " By the faith which I 
owe to God, I will not suffer it. Where is this Helle- 
quin } I will learn from his own mouth who he is." 

" Sire, you are my master, I will conduct you to 
him." 

Then the squire led the Duke to a large thorn tree 
where a tall dark-looking man was seated. Richard 
the Fearless, as soon as he saw him, asked him by 
whose leave he hunted in the forest. 

" By the leave of God," said the dark figure. He 
has commanded us to hunt in these woods all through 
the night. I am Hellequin." 

Thus saying, Hellequin descended from the thorn 
tree, and seated himself upon a piece of silk which the 
seneschal had spread for him on the ground. 

" Can you tell me, strange man, if I shall live 
long?" said Richard. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 309 



" I do not know, but I foresee that you will 
encounter many dangers ; however, neither friends nor 
enemies will have any power over you. Ask me nothing 
more. Farewell !" 

Richard heard this prediction with great joy. 

As he was going, Hellequin said, " Take this as a 
memento of our meeting/' and he gave the Duke the 
rich piece of silk on which he had been sitting. The 
Duke bowed and returned to his horse. He threw the 
silk, which was of extraordinary richness and beauty, 
over the saddle, and laughed. " It will one day make 
a good robe for my foundling," he said. 

Part II. 

The child throve fast and well under the care of the 
forester's wife. Indeed, her growth was almost magical, 
and each year that passed over her head seemed to 
increase her grace and beauty. Duke Richard, who 
was a bachelor, took the greatest interest in his 
protegee, and he paid constant visits to the cottage in 
the forest. He had kept this adventure a profound 
secret, and he had imposed silence on the child's foster- 
mother ; so the strange waif grew up like a sweet 
violet, lost to view in the shade of a wood. 



3IO PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

One day after leaving the cottage, Duke Richard 
began to ask himself what would be the end of this 
affair, for he found that the beautiful girl was con- 
stantly in his thoughts, and that each time he saw her 
it was more difficult to leave her ; in fact, the bold 
Duke was head over ears in love with his forest flower, 
not after the too frequent fashion of his order, but 
honestly in love. The maid was as modest as she was 
beautiful, but she could not help showing, by her delight 
whenever he appeared at the cottage, how tenderly 
disposed she was towards him. 

" By my faith," said Richard, " it seems but the 
other day I carried her in my arms down the wood, and 
now she is a well-grown young woman. Margot has 
done her duty by her. Yes, yes ; she is a beautiful 
creature, and without doubt would make a most loving 
and virtuous wife." 

About this time the barons of Normandy, both 
great and small, held a consistory, and, as though they 
had divined their master's wishes, they resolved to ask 
him to choose a wife who might give him an heir to suc- 
ceed in the government of the country ; certain of their 
number therefore besought an interview with the Duke, 
and made known to him their desire with all due 
respect and formality. 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 311 

Duke Richard smiled when he heard the request of 
his barons. 

" By my faith," he said, " your desires jump with 
my own. I have been thinking of this very thing, and 
I am ready to do what you wish." 

A chorus of pleasure was growled out by the 
barons, as they stroked their beards or twisted their 
moustaches, each man according to his habit. 

" Sire," said the oldest and highest in rank, " there 
are several noble dames from whom we have thought 
your Grace might be pleased to choose." 

" In the matter of choice," said the Duke, " I shall 
consult no one. I have in my mind a young maiden 
whose bringing up I have watched ever since she was 
a child. I could never find a maid more beautiful or 
more to my liking. She is young — but " — added the 
Duke with a smile, " she will grow older ; I will make 
her my wife." 

" Sire," said the barons, " may God give her on 
whom your heart is set the joy and honour of being 
your wife." 

So the affair was settled, though, as you may sup- 
pose, a good deal of curiosity was excited by its singu- 
larity, and no question was asked so often as " Who is 
she?" especially among the ladies of the court, many 



312 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

of whom had hoped to be Duchess of Normandy. But 
it was all in vain, no one could get at the root of the 
mystery ; the only person who could satisfy them was 
dumb ; and, indeed, he knew no more of his protegee's 
parentage than they did. When the maiden appeared 
at court her wondrous grace and beauty, and her per- 
fect modesty of demeanour, silenced all cavillers, and 
made clear to all that the Duke had sufficient excuse 
for his mysterious choice. 

In due course the Archbishop of Rouen blessed 
the nuptials, which were celebrated with great magni- 
ficence in the Cathedral of Rouen ; and the bride, in a 
robe made of the rare silk that Hellequin had given 
to the Duke, looked the most ravishing creature the 
world at that date had seen. 



Part III. 

For several years Duke Richard and his forest-bride 
lived happily together, the only drawback to their perfect 
bliss being that the desire of the duke and his barons 
for an heir was still unfulfilled. Duke Richard loved his 
wife so passionately he could hardly bear her to be out 
of his sight. He was always discovering in her fresh 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 313 



charms of mind and body — custom could not stale her 
infinite variety — her faults were almost virtues in his 
eyes ; even a strange mischievous grace and wilfulness 
that possessed her at times fascinated the bold duke. 

But a sudden end came to all this happiness. One 
day the Duke found his wife lying on her bed' — pale 
and spiritless ; a withering blight had fallen upon her ; 
he strove vainly to rouse her from this lethargy that 
dulled her faculties. At last she burst into tears. 

"What ails you, sweet wife," said the Duke, much 
dismayed by her strange unusual mood. 

" Sire," she said in a broken voice, " I am very ill ; 
I believe I am going to die." 

" The holy saints forbid," cried the Duke. 

A violent shudder passed over his wife at the words. 
" Alas, sire," she sobbed, " it is true ; I know I am 
going to leave you ; my strength and life seem passing 
away." 

" My God ! it must not, cannot be," said the Duke, 
starting up. " A surgeon must see you at once." 

" Richard, do not leave me," she said imploringly, 
laying her hand on his. " I am past all medicine, I 
feel dtiath at my heart — while I can still speak listen 
to me — and I beseech you, by your love for me, grant 
me what I am going to ask." 



3 r 4 PICTURES AND L EGENDS 

" Speak, my soul's life ; I will do anything you 
wish." 

" Sire, when I am dead " — her voice grew weaker 
and weaker — " let me be buried in the chapel in the 
middle of the forest where I was brought up ; and 
promise me, my dear lord, that you will watch during a 
whole night beside my coffin." 

The Duke hid his face in his hands. He could not 
speak, but the heaving of his shoulders told his anguish. 

" Promise," said his wife, faintly. The Duke raised 
his head ; he was very pale, and every feature was 
wrung with mental pain. 

" If I have the misery, sweet wife, to see you dead, 
it shall be as you wish." 

The Duchess was indeed past all help from the 
surgeons ; in a few hours from her seizure she lay pale 
and still as marble. The Duke was inconsolable ; but, 
faithful to his promise, he ordered that the body of his 
wife should be taken in the evening to the chapel in 
the forest. There, dressed in splendid robes of state, 
the body of the young Duchess was laid on a magni- 
ficent bier, surrounded by blazing torches. The arch- 
bishop and his priests chaunted a solemn service for the 
dead, and recommended the soul of the Duchess to God. 



FROM NORMA ND V AND BRITTANY. 3 1 5 



The office finished, the clergy returned to Rouen ; but 
the Duke remained to fulfil his promise to his dying 
wife — to watch during the night beside her body. One 
knight only of his attendants, a loved and trusted friend, 
stayed to keep vigil with him. 

Richard was very heavy hearted ; the joy of his 
life seemed to have gone from him. The whole thing 
had been so awfully sudden — it appeared like a hid-eous 
dream. He could not realise that his gay sweet wife 
was dead, that it was only her lifeless form he looked 
upon ; and as he gazed he fancied he saw a smile curving 
her beautiful lips, and he almost expected her to speak. 

" Oh, my love, my wife," he cried, " speak to me ; 
say you are not dead — say you will come back to me 
in the morning light." 

There was no answering voice ; only the echoes of 
the place returned his bitter cry ; but he seemed to hear 
strange whisperings in the air, and to feel the fluttering 
of wings around him. 

The Duke raised his head and looked round the 
chapel. 

" Heard you aught V he said to the knight beside 
him, who was white with fear. 

" Yes, sire, strange mutterings, and sounds like wings 
beating the air." 



31 6 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

" Some foul bird has got into the chapel," said the 
Duke ; and his head again sank on his breast. 

Towards midnight Richard and his companion were 
seized with heavy sleep. Then a strange thing happened. 
The body of the Duchess struggled violently and raised 
itself on the bier — a terrible cry echoed through the 
forest. Richard started awake ; he felt no fear, he 
only loosened his sword in its sheath and placed it 
across his knees. 

Then a voice from the bier, like the voice of his 
wife, cried out, " What ails you, Duke Richard. In all 
countries they tell of your daring. They say that from 
prime to compline you never fear any living person, 
and now behold your flesh quivers with terror. Come 
no nearer, Richard, do not touch me, or perchance I 
shall swoon again." 

" What does this mean .?" cried the astonished Duke. 
" Are you my own wife t were you not dead when they 
placed you on the bier to-day t " 

" No ; I had only swooned with violent thirst. 
Listen, if you truly love me, if you would have me 
alive again, do what I ask. At the entrance of the 
wood, as you know, there is a fountain of delicious 
water — fetch me some." 

" I go, sweet wife," said Richard, and he instantly 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 317 

left the chapel. But he had not gone many steps when 
a piercing cry came from the building. The Duke quickly 
retraced his steps : the faithful companion of his watch 
lay lifeless on the floor of the chapel. The bier was 
empty ! A peal of mocking laughter rang through the 
air, and then a loud voice cried out — 

" Ho ! ho ! Duke Richard, Brudenor has made a 
fool of you this time. I was your dearly-loved wife — 
I — Brudenor.i Ho ! ho ! ho !" 

" Ah, wicked and deceitful creature," said the Duke. 
" I swear by the God who made me, that if ever you 
cross my path again, I will hew you in pieces with my 
sword." 

Another peal of laughter, and all was still. 

Richard carefully laid the body of his knight upon 
the bier, and watched beside it till the day broke. 

When the hour of prime arrived, the archbishop 
and the priests returned to the chapel to chant the 
service over the body of the Duchess. 

" Sing no more psalms for my wife, my Lord Arch- 
bishop. The great devils of hell have carried her 
away ;" and the Duke told the night's adventure. 

The archbishop tried to comfort him. " Do not 

^ An evil spirit called Brudenor seems to have played many tricks on 
Richard the Fearless. 



31 8 PICTURES AND LEGENDS 

fear or doubt my liege, we know that the devils have 
power both by night and by day to tempt Christians." 

" Ah, my lord archbishop," interrupted Richard, 
bitterly, " but I have been so foully deceived. I swear 
by the splendour of heaven I will not take another wife 
for seven years or more." 

And in order to keep his promise — after having 
buried his murdered knight with great pomp — Duke 
Richard shut himself up in his abbey of Fecamp, of which 
he was the founder, and remained there in seclusion. 

We left Rouen one fine bright morning for Les 
Andelys ; we were to see the famous Hotel du Grand 
Cerf at Le Grand Andely, and also Chateau Gaillard, 
one of the most picturesque and remarkable castles in 
Normandy. The Chateau is placed on the Seine be- 
tween Paris and Rouen, and the town of Le Petit 
Andely lies below the castle walls. 

The ruin rises proudly from the summit of a lofty 
chalk cliff; it is connected only on one side with the 
adjacent hills by a narrow tongue of land. 

Richard Cceur de Lion in defiance of the treaty of 
Louviers, and to spite his rival Philip Augustus, built 
this famous castle. Tradition says Richard was his 
own architect. Delighted with his pet creation he 



FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 



319 



called it his " saucy castle ;" and it was begun and finished 
in one year. The Archbishop of Rouen excommuni- 
cated the lion-hearted king for building this fortress. 
The donjon, built in the form of an irregular circle, was 
of great strength. It contained the royal apartments ; 




CHATEAU GAILLARD. 



the walls are more than fourteen feet thick. It is only 
reasonable to believe that this castle would have lasted 
intact till the present day if man had not destroyed 
his own handiwork. When Philip Augustus saw the 
" saucy castle," he swore by all the saints that he would 
" take it if it were made of iron." To which vaunting 
speech Richard made answer, " I would hold it if it 
were made of butter." 



320 PICTURES AND LEGENDS. 

After the death of Richard, Philip besieged Chateau 
Gaillard. It withstood him for six months, and the 
garrison only surrendered under pressure of starvation. 
With a garrison of one hundred and twenty men 
the castle afterwards withstood our Henry the Fifth for 
sixteen months, only yielding when water failed, owing 
to the wearing out of the ropes with which the buckets 
were sent down into the well. 

Chateau Gaillard remained in a perfect state until 
1606, when Henri Quatre dismantled it with other 
fortresses. 

The view from the castle is very fine, commanding 
the lovely winding river for miles. It has been the 
prison of many celebrated criminals and prisoners, 
among them the unhappy Marguerite de Bourgogne, who 
is said to have been strangled in its vaults by the 
order of her husband Louis the Tenth. 



THE END. 



